


Bitten

by doberman



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Violence, far cry 5 except you end up with jacob and it's the zombie apocalypse, it'll be great, listen when i say slow burn i mean agonizingly slow, probably more characters along the way we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberman/pseuds/doberman
Summary: It's Far Cry 5 but instead of the nuclear explosion it's the zombie apocalypse. The Deputy is taken hostage by Jacob Seed after being overpowered in what she thought was their last stand. Not only must she learn to adapt to the new world, but also survive alongside the man who enslaved and tortured her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wreck me with this alternate ending. please be patient with the slow burn, I want to keep it as realistic as possible. try and leave feedback, it fuels me.

Adrenaline keeps legs moving, powering through as an index finger twitches against the trigger, Peggie life after life dropping like the persistent flies they were. Flashes of gnashing, stained teeth have the deputy faltering, jaws primed for ripping out her exposed throat inching closer and closer – not dissimilar to the near-blinding glint of a knife before it strikes you into the dark.

Sweating palms grip the dagger she holds tighter before ploughing it into the rib cage of the judge pinning her down. The injury does nothing, even as crimson slithers from the tattered coat and down Rook’s forearm, the wolf continues desperately to try and tear her to shreds. There’s a hand, subconsciously, holding the wolf back. Fingers clutch at its unkempt, off-white chest, as the blade is wrenched out and then rammed back in; except this time into the creature’s skull. Snarling fades to gurgling as blood seeps from the wolf’s mouth, body beginning to quake as death is acknowledged by the drug fogging its brain.

Sharp intakes of breath keep Rook from shouting her terror, heart thundering so hard she worries it’s a stampede of deer she can’t see instead. They’re going to crush her, if the weight of the dying wolf on top of her doesn’t first. Delirious and terrified, the deputy clutches at patches of fur as she heaves the form to her side, rolling out before attempting to regain her footing. THIS IS NOT WHAT SHE SIGNED UP FOR.

No use complaining now – it’s beyond that – Rook sheathes her dagger and fumbles for the pistol she’d dropped when the judge collided with her. There's no deer, so it's definitely her heart. _That's good to know_. Bloodied hands are shaking, and it seems to be all she can focus on until more peggies emerge from the mountain’s foliage. She fires instinctively, shot after shot until she reaches rocks. They lead up to **_him_** , the only way up and as palms slip against rough boulder, Rook thinks about how Jacob had previously made the same climb and although it’s probably the fuckery going on in her head, she swears she can feel his energy bleeding through.

Once Rook reaches the top, wild eyes underlined with her lack of sleep search frantically for the seed sibling. He’s there, standing at the very edge and she wonders if it’s a power move. He’s not afraid to die, like looking death directly in the eye – challenging it.  
  


_Challenge away_ , _motherfucker_.  
  


The deputy raises her gun, whereas Jacob’s rifle remains cradled at his abdomen and for a moment the thought that he’s giving up crosses her mind. Would he surrender? That question perishes a little more with each step, until she’s inches away and notices his finger remains on the trigger. In an instant, the weapon is lifted and something in Rook reacts because her form launches itself into Jacob’s, knocking him to the ground and into a roll down the dip in the ground. Her head thuds against a patch of grass, Jacob hovering above her in a final struggle. Their arms thrash as he tries to lash out and she fights back before delivering a kick to his chest that throws him off. Rook misfires her pistol, the shot disappearing off into the distance. One of them wasn’t walking away from this.  


_You find Jacob_ , _and you kill him_. _Or next time I see you_ , _so help me God_ … _I’ll kill you **myself**_.  


Jacob’s straining, huffing and puffing and it’s inappropriate timing to find him ironically like the big bad wolf in that respect. Don’t get distracted. Baring her teeth to dull the pain that sets deep in her ribs, Rook pushes herself back to her feet before stumbling over to Jacob.  
                           He’s on his back, propped up and resting on his elbows as though this is all incredibly amusing to him and a part of Rook doesn’t doubt that it is. After all, compared to him she’s rabbit-like. Nonetheless, determination is grim upon gaunt features as she moves in for the kill – pistol aimed at his head from a distance to avoid getting tripped up.

“My brother saw all this comin’,” He begins, out of breath – out of time. “I don’t know if he talks t’ God … that doesn’t matter, he was right. Humanity is once again in crisis.” His piercing attention is wholly and uncomfortably on _her_. I’m talking to _you_ , Deputy. “It doesn’t matter what we build or achieve. We will always find a way t’ break it down. Babylon. Rome … Empires rise, empires fall. America? We’re no different.”

As he speaks, a hand gestures for her to come closer and she does _instantly_ , a prisoner within her own body while she crouches beside him, listening intently. “We think we’re indestructible. World War Two …” Scabbed hands grab roughly at her jacket, bringing her closer. “War on Terror … We survived it, but it only brought us closer t’ the edge, and this is where we are, right here, on schedule just waiting f’r someone t’ push us … and oh boy have you pushed us. You did everything he said you would do. An’ you didn’t even know it.” He releases his grip and Rook stumbles back – merely a step but it counts as distance. “You had no _fucking_ clue.”

The indescribable anxiety gnawing at her gut doubles with his words. His touch had thrown her, mind scattered as dread clawed its way atop her shoulders. When he releases her, the gun in her grip rises again and this time she presses it to Jacob’s forehead.  
“You have that fuckin’ scripted?” She comments, _any last words_ taken to a **whole** ‘nother level. Repressed fury is shown in the way her brows crumple, drawn together and stuck in place. She hadn’t _asked_ for those words, either. “You think you have a right t’ run your mouth after the _shit_ you did?” To Hope, to the Resistance, to **_her_**.

Anguish taints her, voice threatening to disintegrate under his overpowering gaze. It’s glacial, cerulean hues frozen over like a deadly winter. The sweeps of purple that tint the skin below only serve to amplify both the intensity in his eyes and _exhaustion_.  
 A bullet in his skull is painless compared to what he deserved. And yet, she feels _guilt_ … hesitation rotting in her wrists.

 Jacob’s expression is unreadable, but he’s fixated on her features, reading every twitch of muscle and jaw clench. The silence is starting to seem permanent, frozen in time under his stare, when it’s broken by his radio crackling to life and John’s voice bleeds into the air.  


**: :** Brother! Jacob, if you can hear me, it has begun! The Collapse is here! **: :**  


Caught off-guard, Rook flinches with heavy confusion. A knowing _look_ breezes across Jacob’s features before a leg kicks out, knocking Rook to the ground. She’s dazed, giving him time to scramble for her pistol.

“Fuck!” She gasps, panic paralysing as the butt of the gun is brought down and across her head. Pain is unfelt for she’s unconscious _almost_ immediately, limbs going limp against the dry dirt. She feels weightless, body hoisted into the air and she wonders if she’s dead or dying – not that there’s much difference. Her fate is now in Jacob’s hands, with what was _said_ to be the Collapse closing in on them.

 

                  _Looks like the odds are against you, Rookie_.


	2. Chapter 2

       Eyelids flutter open before shutting tight again as she attempts to adjust to the brightness. The heavens are open, casting down angelic light upon the Mountains that lay before her. She stands where she’d been fighting Jacob, confusion kept internal as to why she’s here. Her body has a mind of its own, however, head turning to direct relaxed gaze to a figure standing at the very edge of the cliff.

The name feels familiar upon her tongue, aged like a bitter wine, and it flows just as fluidly from parted lips. She’s aware that she doesn’t feel any emotions, like she’s a ghost. It’s her ex-boyfriend who stands before her, a smile on his face and apology on _his_ lips.

He had hurt her, wounded her so bad it lasted for years. The memory still follows her, flashbacks pulling out the rug from beneath her when least convenient, smells and tastes throwing her back to a time she wishes nothing more than to forget. It keeps her cold at night, untouched by all and _often_ even herself, _body_ victim in more ways than one to both gentle and violent contact. “What are you doing here?” Tears brim at otherwise clear eyes as she faces her _demon_. He doesn’t respond.

“You sound scared,” another voice speaks out from behind her.

Rook chokes as she tries to turn but she’s stuck in place. Instead, a hand is placed upon her right shoulder, fingers only just gracing peripheral vision but it’s enough. She can see the wounds that blotch calloused skin and she _knows_ , heart dropping.

Jacob rounds her, face to face and unable to defend herself she begins to shiver. The hand on her shoulder sets her skin alight. It feels like he’s pinching a wide area of severe bruising, her bones _breaking_ beneath his touch. She tries to speak, to demand he get the fuck off her but instead, a pained sound croaks past raw lips.

“You shouldn’t be scared of _him_.” The touch is gone in an instant and he turns, walking towards her ex’s form. His voice is more distant now as he continues. “You shouldn’t be scared, full stop,” and Rook cannot mistake the disappointment in his tone. “Fear is for the **Weak**.”

Before she has time to draw her next breath, Jacob’s unsheathed the dagger at his calf and is holding it to the figure’s throat. There’s an emptiness in her heart that has her jolting, the urge to save him all-consuming and she wonders _why_? Why save the man that hurt her so?

Rook leans back on her heels, grounding herself as the blade is brought to skin. There’s something about the image, Jacob’s arm settled across the other’s back, holding him close as blood trickles down glowing silver. She almost feels … safe. Jacob’s _got_ him. But why is he saving her from him?

The nauseating sound of metal _slicing_ whispers past her ears as blood spurts from her demon’s neck. Jacob holds him, angling his body for Rook to see his work before the body is released – tumbling backwards and down into the woodland below for the wolves.

Breathless, Rook finds herself muttering the words thank you before everything seems to go blurry. Her knees buckle underneath her, and she collapses into the fog.

 

* * *

 

 

Rook startles awake, sputtering from her dream as she lurches forward. There’s a throbbing pain that engulfs her head, a burning beneath the skull and for a moment she thinks she might vomit. The clanking of metal against her wrists distracts her, however, gaze flicking to the cuffs that chain her to the bed. Wait, bed – where the fuck is she?

An attempt is made to tug at the cuffs but the pain in her skull flares, so she ceases moving. That is, until a voice pipes up from the corner of the room. “Yeah, wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The smug, distant tone, guttural _insensitivity_. Rook draws in a sharp exhale through gritted teeth, bumping her head against the wall behind her in response. She shouts out, attempting to clutch at the pain only to remember her wrists are being suffocated.

The hair on the nape of her neck rises in alarm, heart pounding when she lifts her gaze to see _him_ seated a few feet away from her. Her vision remains blurry, but she knows his voice, knows red hair and the smear of lighter and darker greens. She knows it’s _Jacob_. As things gradually clear, she’s shocked to find him covered in what looks like blood. It’s as though someone’s sprayed him with it and Rook’s skin crawls when she wonders if the dream had really happened. Speechless, her lips tremble with hundreds of unspoken questions waiting to flow, but all she can manage is to desperately yell for help.

Jacob rises from his chair, crossing the room is a couple of steps. “ _Hey_ , hey **stop** that shit!” He commands and her throat catches, silencing her.

Bound and apparently at his mercy, Rook does what she can to get distance because that’s all that matters right now. Legs start to viciously kick out at the other and though he’s _just_ out of reach she doesn’t give up, making a point before the pain brings her to a jagged halt. “Fuck!” She squeezes out, clenching her teeth to try and stop the thrumming.

“Would you stop making so much fuckin’ noise?” Jacob hisses, reaching for the gun at his hip. It’s unholstered and aimed directly at her, cocked and loaded.

Rook holds her own, remaining still but glaring daggers. “Fucking _do_ it.” It’s got to be less agonising than being tied up with Jacob _fucking_ Seed.

His finger on the trigger twitches as he hesitates, concentration fixed on his face. “Joseph wants you _alive_.” It sounds like he’s telling himself rather than her, gun lowered but he continues to stare for a moment before turning and walking back to his chair.

It’s positioned beside a shelf, which Jacob places the pistol on as an obvious silent threat. _In sight, in mind_. He shifts the chair so he’s shunning her, fixated on the radio that crackles static. For a few moments she watches the back of his head as if she’s expecting it to start talking sense of the situation to her. After that doesn’t happen, her gaze drifts, studying the room she’s in. There’s a huge American flag on the wall along with writing engraved into the concrete. Framed medals and pictures hanging high and concern creeps up her biceps at the realization that this is Dutch’s bunker.

    Why are they here, of all places?

Where is Dutch?

Groaning, Rook does her best to remember what the fuck went down before … before _this_. She’d been fighting Jacob, wrestling more like, when he’d gained the upper hand and knocked her out. Of course he had, she thought. What did she expect from an army veteran? Especially against someone like her, who’s pathetic compared to Jacob’s physique. His broad shoulders are intimidating alone, not to mention weight, muscle and height. He was a towering grizzly among cowering sheep.

It has begun! The Collapse is here!        John’s words slicked the cogs in her brain like an oil, her thinking better paced as she _recalls_. _What_ had begun? What exactly _was_ this Collapse? There hadn’t been anything dramatic, as far as she could remember. It all happened so damn fast. Maybe that’s where the blood came from?

“You talk in your sleep,” Jacob’s voice makes her jump again. He was so quiet she’d forgotten he was there. It’s an observation that makes her do a double-take with her ears. Had she heard him correctly?

“What?”

“You talk in your sleep,” He only repeats, firmer this time.

Rook bites her lower lip nervously. What was his point? “I – I know …”

“What were you dreaming about?”

There’s something underlying in his gravelly tone. Piqued curiosity? Interest? He wants her dead, why should he care? Sure, Rook gets nightmares. They’re fairly regular, which is why the smears of skin beneath her eyes are dull and puffy. Maybe that’s just it. She knows Jacob’s a fanatic when it comes to psychology, though perhaps not in a good way. Is he planning on digging around in her head more? “None of your goddamn business.”

Jacob merely snorts in return, giving a gentle shake of his head before falling silent again. Good. She doesn’t want to talk to him. Let her rot in this static, alone with her poisonous thoughts …

Her brows furrow. Time has already passed, though she’s unable to tell how much. An hour perhaps? Thirty minutes? She’s spent it staring at Jacob’s back, taking in detail because what else is there to do?

It’s surprising how his jacket keeps muscle hidden, draping from his shoulders and down his back. Green is typically a safe colour, one that implies health and relaxation, but on Jacob it gives her stomach cramps and sweat-glazed skin. His back appears to be free of blood, but she knows his front is covered, flecks of it dancing across pale cheeks and into his facial hair. Although he appears to be well-fed, there’s an element to his features that suggests a lack of self-care. Rook can relate to that. Her own figure is toned and slim, but muscle mass is dwindling; a lack of sleep and almost no appetite no good for someone of her size. Especially with all the running and climbing she’s been doing – not that she’s had a choice, mind you.

Unhealthy habits don’t change just because the lives of others have been put in your hands.

“Jacob,” she whispers. Were they alone? What if his whole family were there with them. A bead of sweat drips down the side of her face. He ignores her, so she tries again – louder this time. “Jacob.”

“What?” Irritation drips from the word. “I’m busy.”

“Sure _looks_ like it,” she remarks before she thinks, and the way the other’s shoulders tense up has her shifting in place. He’s _going_ to kill her. There’s no doubt about it. She’s going to keep pushing him until he snaps because that’s what Rook does best. _Keep pushing_.

Jacob exhales heavily before sliding ‘round to face her. “What _is it_ , Deputy?”

The gun beside him is an unholy presence, one that sits at the back of her mind like a constant looming figure. _Don’t push your luck_. Jacob Seed is **not** one to be tested – as God has probably found out already, if there is one. “Why am I here?” It’s a simple question, earthy hues pleading for a genuine response because she needs something to blunt the fear jabbing at her ribs.

“I _told_ you,” impatience is clear in his body language. “The Father wants you alive.”

Rook’s expression falters, frustration creeping in. “Why?”

“ _Got me_.” He leans back in his chair, considering her for a moment. “Better off not questionin’ every _damn_ thing, Deputy. Curiosity killed the cat, ‘n’ all.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” Rook challenges, meeting his stare. She regrets it immediately, his intense gaze as powerful as a wave with the potential to drown her.

A brow arches at the Deputy, Jacob remaining unreadable, but he was obviously captivated by the daredevil that lurks within her. _She’s got a death wish_ , he thinks.  Captivated by her stupidity, more like. “That so?”

She watches him carefully, cautious of the traps he’s setting for her with every word. “You’re fucking insufferable,” she comments.

Amusement shines like a spotlight upon his features, mockery thick in his tone. “I knew you were creative, Deputy. But that was truly … _impressive_.”

“Shut up,” she hisses back. Another instant regret, because with that, Jacob gives a nod and turns his back to her again. Rook kicks her feet, infuriated. “Goddammit, Jacob!” When he doesn’t respond this time, she falls quiet again, hoping her glare will melt through the back of his skull. When that doesn’t work, she resorts to rattling her cuffs for attention. _He’s **going** to answer her question_.

Gradually, the noise grows louder with every second he ignores her until it’s so loud and obnoxious that his forehead is lowered into scarred palms before he turns back to her. “I’m _not_ gonna tell you about the fuckin’ noise again, Dep. One more time ‘n’ I’ll cut your damn hands **off** , _got it_?”

She knows he’s serious. Joseph wants her alive, but with _what limbs_ he didn’t specify. “Then _answer_ my question!” She presses.

Jacob’s silent for a beat, studying her like a snake observing a mouse from its branch. “The Collapse is here. Everything Joseph predicted _happened_ ,” he begins. “God’s cleaning house.”

**GOD’S CLEANING HOUSE**. Her lips tighten with uncertainty, hands beginning to itch furiously. “What do you mean? What’s happening outside?” Outside … where everyone she knows and loves _is_ – or so she assumes.

A sneer presents itself upon his own lips, fatal displeasure evident, but he doesn’t respond – not at first.

“ _Jacob_.”

“The dead are walkin’. _Eating_.”

Brows rise and a laugh bubbles in her throat. He’s kidding right? “I’m sorry … what now?”

“Don’t know.” At least he’s honest.

“Jacob, what _happened_? After our fight …”

“ _Our fight_ ,” he snorts. “Makes it sound like we’re dating.”

Her discomfort is almost audible and he appears to relish in the way her expression crumbles. All power is in his hands. “Don’t deflect,” she urges, desperate to walk straight past the nonsense he’s spewing.

The veteran rolls his eyes, a hand rising to comb through his beard thoughtfully. “After you were out, my _intention_ was t’ carry you t’ my bunker …”

She was right. He _had_ carried her. Rook’s abdomen tightens, index finger rubbing against thumb nervously because she wouldn’t let Jacob Seed touch her while she was awake let alone unconscious. It feels as though there’s suddenly a thick layer of _dirt_ covering her.

“Shit didn’t go t’ plan. We … **I** got cut off. Found myself on _this_ island. Didn’t realize how quickly it would _happen_.” He pauses, gaze averting to the locker beside her. “Found my way into this bunker. Gonna have t’ make do f’ now, until I can get a hold of Joseph.”

How _is_ she supposed to comprehend this? What he’s describing, if she’s hearing him correctly, sounds like the goddamn zombie apocalypse! _That_ was supposed to just be a story plot. A baseline for tv series and video games! Unblinking, Rook looks as vacant as shark-infested waters.

Jacob doesn’t press her, however. He just leaves her to take that in while turning back to tend to the radio. Eventually, Rook stutters an exhale before straining at her cuffs. “Deputy,” he warns.

“No,” she says firmly. “No. I have t’ … I’ve gotta … I don’t _believe_ you! You’re **fucking** with me. I need t’ _see_.” The noise grows again as she fights her bonds, snarling with frustration because _fuck this_! “Uncuff me!”

The other stands up so fast, his chair is thrown back, metal frame colliding against the floor with a deafening crash. The sound alone silences Rook, and just as she begins to fear a prominent beating – Jacob vanishes into the hallway. The worst part about it all is that she can’t bring herself to move. To even attempt an escape. Her form remains entirely still as she waits for him to return.

Like a good pet.

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he does. She notices her dagger in his grip straight away … he must’ve frisked her for weapons when out-cold. Yeah, that didn’t bring _any_ comfort. Rook refuses to close her eyes and instead, meets his own, pride raging within her core.

_One more time ‘n’ I’ll cut your damn hands **off** , got it?_

And he’s going to use her own weapon to do it. Classy. Nonetheless, Rook’s fingers clench into a tight fist and she feels her body curl in on itself defensively. He crouches, free hand reaching for her cuffs and eyes instinctively squeeze shut because _she doesn’t need to see this_.

Agony is wholly expected, and though she’s not prepared she grounds herself to the best of her abilities. That is, until she hears the click of a cuff being opened. Her arms are manoeuvred slightly before the cuff is snapped shut again. Blinking, Rook finds her hands still intact except this time she’s been separated from the bed frame. Jacob holds the link and hoists her to her feet, causing her to choke out in pain a few times as metal catches already-raw skin. She looks at Jacob expectantly, confusion flowing across tired features. “What are you doing?”

“You said you wanted t’ see, so you’re fucking _gonna_.” If it’ll shut her up, keep her from attracting every damn deadhead above them _to_ them. He drags her out into the hallway and to the med-bay opposite. The door is shut, but there’s a window allowing them to peer inside.

What does he mean? See _what_? Has he … has he got one **in** there? Here, _with them_? “I don’t …” she mumbles.

Jacob speaks over her, pointing into the room. “ _Look_.”

Cautiously, Rook approaches the window and squints. She can see a figure in there, stumbling about. They’ve got their back to her, but she wonders if they need help. If Jacob had fucked them up and left them to die. “Who _is_ that?” Jacob’s form is behind her, blocking escape and keeping her practically pressed against the door to avoid physical contact.

He raises a fist and knocks at the door, seemingly grabbing the attention of the stowaway. The body turns to face them, a bloodcurdling sound gurgling from its throat. Rook’s face drains of all colour, hands trembling violently as she recognises the face. “N-No … F-Fuck. Dutch!” Hands are pressed to the door, terror ripping across her features. His eyes are white, soulless, jaw snapping like a rabid dog and skin beginning to decay – the sickly colour of vomit. There’s an obvious stab wound in his throat, blood staining the ripped clothes he wears. Her throat catches mid-sob, stomach uneasy as she tries to back away, only to bump into the brick wall that was Jacob Seed.

Wrath consumes her, nails digging into the palms of her hands. She spits at him, lunging and clawing as he easily fights her off. “What the fuck did you _do_ t’ him!?” She howls, using all her concentration to hold back threatening tears. “How could you _do_ that!? You sick **fuck**! You _monster_!”

Jacob’s expression stays steady, giving the odd grunt as he secures her wrists in his hands, the dagger in his grip pressing to her burning skin. “ _Stop_ it,” he warns her. The insults or the fighting? She can’t tell. It doesn’t matter, all she knows is she wants him dead after this. “He aimed first,” Jacob states, his voice eerily calm. “’course, he wasn’t _fast_ enough.”

Rook stares at him. Through him. He knows that look. He’s worn that look. “He was weak, Deputy.” The dagger he holds is passed to her. It’s warm, which catches her off-guard because she hadn’t expected Jacob to be capable of producing _heat_. You’d think he’d be the equivalent of a human ice-pack. He takes a step forward and she takes a step back, and this continues until the door is open enough for her to step into the room. Panic snaps across her back like a whip and she knows what he’s doing.

He’s going to lock you in!  Her mind screams, frantic for escape as her fists beat into the mountain man’s chest. “No!” She pleads, knowing full well that the creature closing in on her wasn’t Dutch anymore. Hands open-up and palms grasp at the front of his jacket. “Jacob! **Don’t**! _Please_!” But one of his palms pushes her back with force before the door is closed and locked. He stands on the other side, watching through the window like some sick sadist. As one last attempt, Rook clutches at the door handle and yanks, trying to pry it open with the little muscle she maintains. It doesn’t budge.

Jacob looks positively fascinated by the scene about to take place. She’s on her own. In every way. But Rook was not weak, she’d proved that much already. With her hands cuffed, she tests the boundaries of her flexibility before readjusting the grip on her dagger. The zombie closes in, graceless in its solemn quest as Rook ducks beneath flailing arms.

Once out of sight, she kicks behind the knee – sending it clattering to the floor before bringing the blade down into its skull and twisting. Swiftly, the gurgling stopped and its form fell limp. Rook sits up on her knees, gasping and retching for both air and at the sight of the brain matter that dribbles from the wound when she extracts her weapon.

She hadn’t heard the door open, but Jacob looms over her – confidence in the contorts of his face. He doesn’t have to say it for her to know.     _You are a tool_.     “It’s an easy thing, taking the lives of those you _don’t_ care about. But sacrificing the life of someone you do?” A husky chuckle leaves him. “There’s still so much f’r you t’ learn, Deputy.”

He leans down and pulls her to her feet and she lets him guide her back to the bed frame. She sits back on the freezing floor, back pressed to harsh concrete and mind numb. Her gaze is averted to the floor while Jacob searches for it. She wants to be _alone_ and he senses it, leaving her to continue his date with the radio. This was it, wasn’t it? Destined to rot down here. If Jacob doesn’t kill her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fanfic is for the sole purpose to Ruin myself thanks for tuning in


	3. Chapter 3

“Jacob …” It must’ve been a few hours since they’d last spoken. Jacob hadn’t moved from his place, and Rook … well, Rook couldn’t – even if she wanted to. She’d spent the last hour debating on whether to just piss herself or summon the demon opposite her for assistance. Her pride was strong enough for the first, but the consequences and the awkwardness that would follow was outweighed by the latter option. She doesn’t have to be looking at him to feel his burning gaze on her skin, anticipating her next words. “I need to uh …” her conscience scoffs at her. _What are you, five?_ “Need t’ use the bathroom,” and to emphasise her point, she gives her cuffs a good jingle.

The other stares for a moment, as though he was shocked she thought she had a right to anything but toileting in the corner of the room like a damn animal. “Good f’r you,” he says bluntly.

Brows rise and she snaps to meet his gaze. The way his expression shifts shows he was hoping for that exact reaction, taunting her. With a gruff exhale, he rises from the chair and moves to a nearby bucket. “Fine.” It’s tossed to her side; just out of reach and she’s _not_ using that – anyway. How the hell is she supposed to … achieve anything with her hands _cuffed_ like they are?

“You oughta be joking,” Rook seethes.

“I look like much of a joker t’ you?” He asks, pausing. “Consider that a rhetorical question.”

“I’m not using a tin can.”

“It’s a _bucket_.”

“I know what it is, Jacob! I’m not using it!”

“Suit yourself.” Then he merely stands, arms crossed and watching like the creep he is.

Rook’s brows furrow. “Fucking _uncuff_ me.”

Jacob exhales. “Eli might’ve treated you like a princess but that shit stops _here_ , Deputy.”

The deputy scoffs, feeling a weight pulsate in her chest at the mention of her friend. Her _Sacrifice_. “You’re not even _half_ the man he was.”

“Never _implied_ it.”

The silence is deafening, his stare causing her skin to start stinging for she’s _avoiding_ it. “Just uncuff me for _fuck’s_ sake.”

“That’s some _effective_ negotiation skills, Dep.”

She should’ve killed him on that hill when she had the chance. The barrel of her gun was pressed to his goddamn forehead! She could’ve **ended** it _right there_ … Her gaze drops, this is useless. “Fine. Just … uncuff _one_ hand?” To a degree, she gets it. Gets that he’s rightfully wary of what she’s capable of. She just took down a zombie _in cuffs_. Setting her free in the bunker with the guy who ruined her life probably isn’t the safest idea – especially because the second she is free she’s _going_ to try her very best to kill him.

Jacob considers her for a moment before stepping closer. A key slips into sight and one hand is freed before he steps out of reach. He’s not afraid, just not stupid enough to assume she _won’t_ attack him.

“Now _get out_ ,” Rook scowls.

“What?” He barks.

“Get _out_. I don’t want you fucking _watching_!”

He pauses, seemingly hesitant for a moment before turning to leave the room. “You try _any_ shit –”

Rook raises her free hand and the cuffed one like a surrendering criminal. “I would _never_.”

She receives possibly the most scornful look she’s seem before he leaves her to it. Without wasting time, Rook stumbles as she tugs down her bottoms and squats over the bucket, trying her hardest to keep things quiet because she never wanted any of this and honestly, Jacob seems to make things a whole lot mortifying than they really are. Rook’s been in a cage in front of him before, however. Covered in her own filth and looking like she’d been dragged through every wolf den within a fifty-mile radius.

Embarrassment was lost to her, but she still possessed her _dignity_. Once she’d finished, she placed the bucket to the side and pulled her pants back up. “I’m decent,” she calls out, prompting Jacob to re-enter.

“ _Are_ you?” He counters with a leer. Shoulders press back as he lowers himself to her level, giving her a warning glare before taking her wrist to cuff.

Having not lost all her _fight_ , Rook uses her free hand to grasp at Jacob’s jacket, pulling him closer before crashing her forehead into his own. Pain skyrockets, previous damage forgotten until now when she cries out – grasping at the side of her head.

Furious, Jacob leans back to battle the force of the hit, waiting for his vision to clear before a huge hand seizes the lower part of her face, squeezing ruthlessly. The power in his hand has her worried her jaw’s going to crack beneath the pressure, a chill striking down her spine when he leans in close. His breath is hot against her skin and the way he bares his teeth has her remembering the judge she’d fought before all of this.

She tries to squirm away but his hold is vice-like, bloodshot eyes contrasting with swirls of icy blue disdain. It’s terrifyingly alluring, the fervent in his features; rose red flecked across his skin in an almost artistic manner. She wonders when he’s going to clean himself up. When she’s going to be able to do the same. He’s going to have to trust her sooner or later, right? “You’re making it a goddamn _mission_ not t’ **kill** you,” he growls.

There’s something in his touch that has her burning up, the distance between them almost non-existent. The hatred she has for him could ground bones to dust, her own teeth bared in defiance. I’m not afraid of you. She is, to an extent, knowing only the minimum this man is capable of. Her gaze flickers down to his teeth, recalling the way he’d talked about Miller … the fact that he’d eaten his team mate to survive. He was so close she could almost _taste_ him. “Then stop _holding back_.”

His grip eases, hardened glower seeming to soften at her comment. “You couldn’t _handle_ it.”

Rook grimaces at his assumption. “I handled you on that hill _just fine_.”

“‘til you hesitated.” He’s _got her_ there, the reason for such entirely lost to her.

“Asshole,” she grunts which only causes him to sneer. “Next time I _won’t_.”

Jacob’s brows rise vaguely. “Ah, there’s gonna be a next time, is there?”

Rook gives a firm nod, lips sealed but teeth still gritted together. A silent promise to herself.

“I look forward t’ that, _Deputy_ ,” he hums, roughly grasping her free hand and clicking the cuff around exposed wrist. The humming continues as he steps out of reach, a familiar melody causing Rook’s gut to churn.

          _Only you_ , _and you alone_ , _can thrill me like you do_.

“Jacob, stop.”

_And fill my heart with love_ , _for only you_.

“ ** _Jacob_**.” There’s more urgency in her tone this time, eyes wide and heart storming but he merely chuckles with amusement. Because he did that to her. He has that power. The humming does cease, however, Rook’s shoulders rolling in silent praise. The song is an ironic choice for a man with no heart nor an ability to love.

She wonders if he takes pleasure in hearing her say his name that way. Urgent, fearful, desperate. It feeds his ego, gives him that power he so craves. It’s no assumption that Jacob Seed sees himself above everyone. Even in the family hierarchy, he’s the _oldest_.

Something about that is extremely unsettling. Just _how old_ **is** he? She felt out of her depth. Hell, she’d felt that way from the very fucking _beginning_.

“You this much of a dick to your brothers?” She asks.

Jacob snorts, seating himself beside the radio again. “I’m their _big brother_. ‘s on the job application.”

“Must be a _tough_ job,” she mutters which causes him to squint in her direction.

“You do what you gotta f’r family,” Jacob defends.

“I get that. It’s just when they start _manipulating_ you …”

“You start makin’ assumptions, Dep ‘n’ things are gonna get real blurry.”

“I’m just saying that –”

“Yeah well don’t,” he interrupts. “Everything I do, I do by _choice_.”

“ _Willingly_?”

“That’s right,” he confirms.

There’s a pause, conversation having not flowed this easily for some time and she finds it discomforting that things are going that way. Sure, she’d rather power through this shit show as easily as possible but this was Jacob Seed. Not a friend, and _definitely_ nothing more.

“You struggle t’ make _peace_ with that,” Jacob observes.

Rook blinks up at him, struggling with her words. “No. I just … I find it says a lot about you, knowing that **you** _have_. I can understand it. Trading one war zone for another. The things you’ve done … to you, doing this doesn’t compare.”

“You a psychologist, Dep?”

She frowns gently before looking to him, shaking her head.

“Stop _diggin’_ , then. And by that, I mean your **grave**. You wanna be productive? Stop gettin’ on my _last_ nerve.”

He’s an enigma, a concoction of child and adulthood trauma. There’s a war inside him that he’s constantly trying to run from. That much is clear.

“‘s gettin’ late. Give that mouth a fuckin’ rest,” Jacob says, rising from his chair. The radio is lifted and taken with him this time as he nears the door.

“Wait –” Rook rasps, bringing him to a halt. “Where are _you_ going?”

“Next door.”

“But what if I need –”

“Deal with it,” he drawls.

The look that passes over her face tells him that this conversation isn’t finished, therefore he leans against the door frame and crosses his forearms over his chest, waiting.

“You want me to sleep on the floor,” she says it as a statement, offence tipping in her tone.

“You forget your _place_ , Deputy.”

“Can’t you uncuff one hand again?”

He shakes his head.

“Why not?!” Rook argues.

“You don’t bite the hand that feeds you. You want me t’ start _trusting_ you? Give me a fuckin’ **reason**.” With that, he vanishes into the dim hall, out of sight but never out of mind.

Rook huffs with frustration. She’s exhausted, aching all over and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a warm bed. Instead, she gets to sleep on the cold, dirty floor _beside_ one. “Goddammit,” she rumbles, attempting to shift into a better position. It’s impossible, and tomorrow is most likely going to hurt a lot more because of it. Legs kick out straight, feet kicking together like some Dorothy Gale impression as she starts to internally chant _there’s no place like home_ , **_there’s no place like home_**.

She dissociates for a number of minutes, vacant gaze glazed over until she slowly comes back, focussing on the shelf opposite her. Butterflies explode within her stomach; Jacob’s left the pistol with her. Accidentally, she imagines, most likely too _distracted_ by her. If she could get over there … if she could just reach it she would at least have some defence against Jacob. If not get a nice, clean headshot the _second_ he walks in tomorrow.

Her wrists ache. _Give me a fuckin’ reason_. All the while she’s plotting to kill him, he’s not going to uncuff her. The idea that this could last weeks has her terrified. Asking Jacob to feed her, to clean her … She **had** to earn his trust. Even if she didn’t _want_ to. Besides, she could always take his life when he’s least expecting it.

Rook stares at the weapon a little longer before her gaze drops to the floor, waiting for sleep to take her. She knows what she has to do. Only time will tell if it’ll work.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, she wakes with a start again. The bucket to her side is currently her only friend and her stomach hasn’t felt this empty in some time. Fingers flex, hands numb from the way she slept – handcuffs cutting off her blood circulation for perhaps, luckily, an hour or so. Shifting, Rook glances around the room to find no sign of Jacob; unlike last time. No comments on how she talks in her sleep or poking at the bear that is her nightmares. It’s silent, aside from the faint buzzing of the bunker. The room feels empty, mostly due to a missing Dutch. Rook frowns, looking down at her bloodied hands. Dutch’s blood.

He wasn’t Dutch, anymore.

Doesn’t matter. _She_ was the reason Jacob ended up coming to this bunker. She was a priority. Joseph wanted her alive and even though his hate for her is as obvious as a thorn in your foot, Jacob would do what she supposed was _anything_ for his siblings. And in all honesty, part of her would rather be stuck with him than the others. Not that she’d ever admit that aloud.

“Morning,” Jacob’s voice shatters her daze, eyes snapping to meet his own and panic worming its way into her jaw.

“Uh–”

So the Deputy _does_ have moments of vulnerability. Interesting. Lips quirk into a miniscule smirk as she tries to gather herself. “Something wrong?”

“No!” Too defensive? “No,” she says softer. “Just didn’t expect to see you so … early,” good cover.

“It’s ‘noon.”

“Ah, is it?” Brows rise as a silent plea for him to stop _pressing_. Blinking, her eyes clear enough to notice that the grime and blood that seemed to cover his skin yesterday is gone. Had he showered? Lips purse as she thinks … why was I looking at his skin? At _any_ point? She’s certain there’d be instances where she’d been ogling yesterday – unintentionally, of course. Sometimes she just zones out … like she is right now. Her mouth opens to excuse herself for staring at him but air replaces words. “Hard t’ tell without any damn windows,” she manages to croak out.

“The Project will teach you t’ _appreciate_ the small luxuries in life.”

“I don’t need teaching,” she retorts sharply. “I’ve just been a little _busy_ , you know … fighting a crazy cult and what not.”

Jacob rolls his eyes, continuing on to his chair, radio in hand. He seems to pause when he notices the pistol, his back turned and therefore expression unreadable, but Rook assumes he’s processing what _she_ had the previous day. And yet, she hadn’t touched it. She hopes that increases her chance of getting these _fucking_ cuffs off _sometime_ soon. Whatever he’s thinking remains undisclosed as he seats himself and begins twisting the dials on the radio.

“Any luck?” She inquires. Not that she cares, and in fact, she partially hopes his siblings have been consumed by whatever hell is taking place above them. That just leaves Jacob, then.

The other looks at her, quizzical expression as he studies her. Why isn’t she demanding anything? Throwing a tantrum? _Something_. “Not yet,” though he remains hopeful. There was no reason for him, the sacrifice, to survive and not his brothers. Faith is replaceable, she always _has_ been.

Rook nods, attempting to keep her cool beneath Jacob’s gaze. He seems more intense today, or maybe that’s just how he is in the morning. **_Afternoon_**. Dammit. She hates this, losing track of time, of _herself_. It’s only been a day? Two days? “How long was I out for?”

“After I knocked you out?” He asks bluntly.

Rook falters. “ _Yeah_. That.”

“Around thirty hours.”

“Over a day!?” She chokes. It hadn’t felt like more than at most five hours.

Jacob hums. “You sound surprised.”

“That’s because I _am_. So what … we’ve been in _here_ f’r …”

“Three days.”

Rook gives him a blank stare. She can’t _believe_ it.

Jacob puffs a heavy breath, unamused by her expression. “Did you think you’d have been rescued by now?”

She’s not going to lie, that’s the ideal outcome she’d been hoping for. Sharky or Grace or fucking anyone coming to her aid.

“We’re gonna be in each other’s company f’r some time, Dep,” he informs. “Better get _comfortable_.”

“D’ we …” Nope. We doesn’t sit on her tongue _well_ just yet. “D’ _you_ have a plan? I mean you ‘n’ I can’t just **sit** down _here_.”

“I need t’ find my brothers.”

“Then _I_ need t’ find my friends.”

Jacob doesn’t agree with that plan, by the way his face contorts. “No,” he says plainly.

“What?”

“Your friends are dead.”

“That’s bullshit,” she bites out.

“They’re weak. They won’t survive this.”

So much for staying in his good books. “If we’re giving opinions then I’m sure you won’t mind me saying John’s probably out there somewhere _choking_ on what’s left of his fucking throat.”

Jacob’s across the room and practically straddling her waist in a heartbeat. His hands engulf _her_ throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until she’s seeing spots. Weakly, cuffed hands instinctively try to fight back but she’s too weak, _breakable_ in the hands of this monster.

The expression that Jacob bears is something otherworldly. Rook doesn’t think she’s seen one so full of hatred and anger. She feels as though she’s staring death itself in the face – and to a degree, she probably is.

The pressure builds and she feels like he’s going to crush her throat like it’s a fucking berry. “ _Do it_!” She whispers. At least _get it over with_. Maybe then she can rest. Once again, their faces are inches apart and she can feel the battle taking place within him. Kill her – don’t kill her. His fingers twitch, easing and then tightening, prolonging her suffering.

Rook’s vision starts to darken when he finally releases her. As she chokes and retches for oxygen, Jacob’s hands vanish from her neck. “ ** _Fuck_**!” He bellows, clambering to his feet before storming out of the room, leaving Rook to barely recover. Tears drip from her eyes, shock ambushing her body so all she can do is tremble and shake.

How was she supposed to earn this man’s trust when he hadn’t even earned hers?

It was a two-way street, but apparently Jacob is conveniently _blind_. Rook clutches at her throat, flinching when she feels the pain surging from the bruising that’s undoubtedly going to stand out. Right now, she’s thankful no one’s there to see her – pathetically sobbing into her cuffs between each desperate gasp.

She has no idea where Jacob’s gone, not a fucking clue and she feels concern growing over whether he’s going to come back and finish the job.

Minutes pass and she hears nothing. She’s managed to calm herself to an extent, but the panic flares again when Jacob re-enters the room. He walks straight past her, snatching something he’d left on the shelves up and into his pocket before storming out again. “I’m going t’ look f’r survivors. Don’t fucking do _anything_ while I’m gone,” she hears him order before his footsteps disappear into the distance, followed by the heavy clank of the hatch being opened and closed.

For a moment, she seems stunned. _Jacob’s gone_. Now is her chance! Overwrought, Rook yanks at her cuffs and kicks her legs. Wild eyes scan the room, gaze falling on the pistol, that _is_ where she saw it last. Jacob had _left_ it there.

This means that she’s able to make a little more noise without him hearing. Angling her body, she attempts to lift the heavy bed frame with her feet, kicking and heaving it upwards. No luck that time.

Trying again, she works on lifting and holding it rather than kicking it and it takes time and concentration she doesn’t have with her neck throbbing the way it is, but she manages to slip the cuffs out from under one of the legs and finds herself _free_. The bed hits the ground with a violent clang but she doesn’t _care_.

Slowly, using the frame for support, Rook rises to her feet. A moment is spared for her to seat herself on the mattress to regain clarity. It doesn’t take long before she’s back on her feet and stumbling for the gun, heart pounding and breathing rapid. He could come back at any moment, minutes or hours he hadn’t specified. Clammy hands grasp for it, grip tightening as she heads back to the bed frame. The pistol is placed by her left thigh while her right knee is placed beneath one of the bars, elevating it just enough for her to slip the link of her cuffs underneath.

Using the little energy she has left, she slams the bed leg down onto the cuffs, patience a goddamn virtue because it takes a whole lot of hits before the chain breaks – giving freedom to both hands. Grabbing the gun, she scrambles back to her feet, laughing hysterically. She can’t believe she’s made it this far. _Don’t fuck it up now_.

Rook makes her way into the hall, peripheral vision catching sight of Dutch’s body through the glass to her left and her ribs begin to ache. Movement exaggerates just how bad the damage is, both caused by Jacob and sitting slumped against a wall for three days – moving only to squat over a fucking bucket.  

She passes the room Jacob had been sleeping in. There’s a single armchair near the doorway, accompanied by two bunk beds – the bottom bunk of one being a complete mess. She wonders if Jacob tosses and turns in his sleep?

Why is that a relevant question? Rook shakes her head and presses on. She searches the desk for something, anything, trying to ignore Dutch’s handwriting and instead looking for things Jacob had placed there or written himself. Plans, thoughts? Nothing. “He’s under fucking lock an’ key,” she rasps irritably. Never mind. Her backpack has been discarded on the ground from before this shit storm began, but it’s here and still packed with the necessities. Thank fuck Jacob had left it alone. She slings it over her shoulders, the pistol in her grip the entire time. Then, she heads back into the hallway – down and right, right again … she can smell the fresh air. But as she reaches the doors, she halts, anxiety seeping into her gut.

What if this was just a terrible idea?

What if Jacob’s on the other side of the door?

What if one of the deadheads snatch her and eat her alive?

What if her friends really were dead?

_What if Jacob was right_?

Teeth grit and she opens the doors, stepping out into the wilderness. _You’ve got this_ , _Rook_.

She’s not prepared for encountering survivors, but that doesn’t matter. She just has to get away … Dutch’s Island is quiet, which is typical. It wasn’t infested with peggies nor resistance, therefore she hopes she won’t stumble upon many – if _any_. The latter being the preferable outcome.

Breaking into a sprint, she runs for the nearest tree stand, ignoring the way her knees threaten to buckle beneath her as she climbs up the ladder. After reaching the top, Rook lowers herself into a seat left there – reaching for her binoculars. Better to scope out the area first. She can’t make anything out, other than trees and the occasional deer. The thought crosses her mind that Hope’s animals might _too_ be at risk of becoming one of those … things. There’s nothing worse than a zombie cougar, and she’s not talking about Adelaide. At least with a bear you can see it coming.

A hand rises to her head, subconsciously feeling for a bump as she groans quietly.

Fuck. This. She didn’t ask for any of it. Then again, God doesn’t discriminate.

To an atheist like Rook, this all just seems like some mighty fucking rough bad luck. But she understands why those with a more intense view in regards to religion, could misread it as a sign or a _collapse_. People are _eating_ each other and it’s not for pleasure. Religion is the least of her problems.

Binoculars are stuffed back into her pack before she reaches out for the zipwire, heading back down to ground level. She needs to make her way over to one of the other islands and find out what the fuck is going on. Where the fuck everyone _is_.

Jacob had said he’d been planning to take her to his bunker but they’d gotten cut off by what she assumed had been the dead. Meaning it’s more than likely that his brothers were in their own bunkers – along with the surviving peggies. She wonders where Faith is, Jacob’s lack of concern oddly surprisingly. No time to think about that right now. Rook lands unexpectedly gracefully, calves already aching after three days of static.

She can hear something in the distance – what sounds like shouting. A gun shot has her heart hammering in her chest, palms melded to her own weapon as she approaches the commotion. It’s disconcerting, the feeling of helplessness that drapes itself over her shoulder like a cold blanket. Jacob’s gone, possibly forever and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Throughout the misery he rained down on her, he had been there. No one else had. _Only him_. Sadism and unpredictable aggression aside, Jacob had the ability to make her feel safe. He wanted her dead, granted, but it was such an intense desire that he potentially would stop others from hurting her just to do so himself.

Rook frowns to herself. It’s all fucked, whatever perspective you look at it from. But there’s no denying the emptiness she feels with him out of sight. That godawful smirk, the knowing tone, the sharp wit and sarcasm.

_Excuse me?_ Her conscience perks up and the internal scolding begins. God, she really is losing her mind. _You’re talking about the monster that tried to strangle you to death not too long ago._

“I fucking _know_ ,” she grumbles to herself, hand clutching her mouth when she’s startled by another shot. “Shit!”

As she closes in, she notices four figures in the near-distance. One is pinned against a tree, another two pinning that one and a fourth sneaking up – unseen. Rook doesn’t waste any time knowing there might be a survivor. She remains out of sight, hiding behind trees and ducking into foliage.

When she’s close enough, she watches the obvious survivor shoot one, sending it dropping to the floor.  It’s at that moment Rook charges into the open, aiming her gun for the second zombie. She’s beaten to it, the end of a blade appearing through its skull before that one also drops.

“Shit! Are you alright?” Rook asks, stepping closer.

“ ** _Deputy_**?”

Her eyes widen in horror. “J-Jacob …” And to be honest, she wonders what she expected. They were on the same goddamn _tiny_ island.

“What in the _fuck_? I told you t’ – how the fuck did **you** even –”

Jacob’s interrupted by the sound of Rook’s gun, bullet sparking out and hitting something with a dull thud. The veteran’s brows rise, gaze studying Rook’s raised weapon before lowering to examine his own body. There’s blood, but it’s not his. The deputy looks positively terrified, a deer in the headlights as her trigger finger trembles. He’s aware of something hitting the ground behind him, head turning to see another zombie he wasn’t aware of lying limp. Confound, Jacob looks back to Rook, piecing it together. She’d shot the zombie sneaking up on him. And **_not_** him. Not yet, at least. It could stay that way.

Stepping forward, Jacob watches the other’s expression cautiously. He keeps going until the gun is aimed in his direction. “ _Deputy_ ,” he tries to soothe. He isn’t afraid of death, but he had a purpose and being left for scavengers at the hands of Rook didn’t take his fancy.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warns. “I’ll _shoot_ ,” and he doesn’t doubt her for a second – which is why he holsters his gun and knife, raising his hands ever so slightly to show he’s unarmed.

“Let’s not do this out in the open, Dep,” Jacob _suggests_. “That was a lotta gunfire. Those things? They react t’ sound. If there’s any in the area they’re gonna be on top of us in –”

“An’ why should I not _leave_ you here f’r them? _Tied up_ like a goddamn piñata.”

Jacob holds in his desire to be smug. It’s unlikely she’d be able to overpower him to such a degree, mostly because weapon or no weapon he’s _not_ going to _let that happen_. But he also doesn’t really want to be here when / if more zombies come looking for them. “You’re not like that, Dep.”

“ _Oh_?” Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say, for she’s taken it as a challenge. “What d’ you know about me, Jacob? You don’t know shit.”

She isn’t quite aware of what the cult is capable of. The details they can get their hands on … the information … He knows all he needs to. “You gonna take the _opportunity_ fr’m me?”

Rook hesitates. _Don’t listen to him_. _He couldn’t give two shits about getting to know you_.

“Think about it. These people you wanna save. When were they actually there f’r you? When did they take the time t’ get t’ _know_ you?” He pauses, allowing her to consider for a moment before continuing. “They didn’t, did they? Because the only thing they gave a shit about was getting more help. And oh boy did you _help_ them. Tell me … how many favours did they **ask** ’a you, Deputy?”

“ _Shut up_!” She warns, finger nearing the trigger. It’s a work in progress. Fuck with someone’s mind enough and you’ll _have_ them, one way or another.

“ _They’re_ the ones that made you weak. They take and they take and _they **take**_. But who giveth, Deputy? Who gave you the shit _you_ needed when you _needed_ it most?”

Checkmate. Eyes are the window to the soul and he doesn’t think hers could be any more open to him than they are right now. He sees her thinking, processing his words because he knows he’s right, and it’s that confidence that makes her unbalanced.

The sound of a zombie gurgling in the distance has him reaching out for the gun and she lets him take it, if only because she’s so fucking exhausted. Hopefully her not killing him and actually saving his life rubs off somewhat and benefits her later.

“Time t’ get _moving_ , Dep,” he urges, noticing she wasn’t following him after a few steps.

Rook shakes her head. “I don’t wanna.”

_Leave her_ , he thinks. But it’s not that easy. _Never fucking is_. Were he less obsessed with maintaining his reputation and level of power he’d put her on his back and piggyback her to the fucking bunker. _As if_. “Didn’t fuckin’ ask,” he states, reaching out to grasp her forearm but she pulls away with a gasp.

Fear buzzes within her gaze, rightfully so after the last time he’d _laid hands on her_. “Don’t,” she says firmly.

Jacob’s teeth grind together in frustration. He sees the bruising better in this light, a galaxy of blues and purples setting in for the long-run. He imagines yellow will join in time. It’s somewhat _fascinating_ , red hues showing where his hands had been. It’s got to fucking _hurt_ , too. He’ll feel bad about that _later_.  
Blinking himself out of his trance, Jacob glowers when he meets Rook’s gaze. “I’ll drag you by the hair if I gotta, though I’m sure you’d rather follow me _willingly_.”

She’s got no choice. There’s not enough energy in her body to keep her running for long and being out here alone is a death wish, seeing as even Jacob Seed was almost overpowered. Weapon-less, helpless, she follows him in silence.

They aren’t far from the bunker when her knees finally decide to give out, causing her to collapse onto the floor. Jacob hears the fall and turns, baring his teeth at the sight. “Fucking really?” It’s more towards their sheer luck than Rook herself. Not that she hears it, fading in and out of consciousness. “Alright,” he grunts, attempting to loop an arm under hers to help her walk but she doesn’t get up when he tries to lift. “Can you walk, Dep?”

He receives a broken response; a muffled ‘ _what the fuck’_ and she becomes a deadweight. “Goddammit.” Jacob glances up to see what they’re dealing with, about eight zombies closing in and although the number seems small, he’s not able to keep the deputy safe and fight them off at the same time.

Wait – keep the deputy safe? Since when was that a fucking priority? Sure, Joseph wants her alive but since when was he her bodyguard? _Protector_?  
Since she _saved his life_ , he guesses.

An arm tucks itself under her knees, another across her back as he carries her down the path and back to the safety of the bunker. They slip out of sight before they’re spotted – the clunk of the doors being locked and then silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH slightly longer chapter this time. w h o o ps ?


	4. Chapter 4

**: :** It’s so good to hear from you, brother. **: :** Relief washes over Joseph at Jacob’s contact.

**: :** God has kept you _safe_ then, Joe? **: :** Jacob’s says, his voice as guttural and emotionless as ever.

**: :** Yes. John and Faith, too. Our flock is damaged but … _stable_. **: :**

Jacob pauses. **: :** _Good_. **: :**

**: :** Have you received word of the deputy’s status? **: :**

**: :** She’s here, with me. **: :**

**: :** Alive? **: :** Joseph’s voice softens.

Jacob turns his head, gaze falling on the form that rests in the locker room’s bed. Her face is littered with cuts and bruises, throat a vibrant smear of different shades of blues and purples – the rest of her body hidden beneath the covers. **: :** And _well_. **: :** _What Joseph doesn’t know won’t hurt him_.

**: :** This is better news than I could have hoped for, Brother. You have done well. **: :**

**: :** You’ll _contact me_ with a plan when the time’s right? **: :**

**: :** Yes, if you are able to find a secure line. **: :**

**: :** Speak soon, Joseph. **: :**

It’s short and sweet, no need to ramble for listening ears. He’d have to spend some time fucking around with the radio, if not upgrade to the one in the control room. Jacob exhales heavily, placing his head into the palm of his hand. _What a fucking mess_. Alongside that, there was dealing with the deputy when she wakes. He turns again, observing her from afar.

The rise and fall of her chest is gentle, quite the opposite to her personality, and her expression seems … _peaceful_. It’s a sight to behold if he’s being honest, a face he could quite easily stare at for hours on end. A sleeping dove, she seems angelic but that’s far from the truth. She’s a comfortable presence right now, not arguing back and not picking for a fight. But God help him if she were placid and pleasant – there proves no challenge _there_. The fire is what’s so alluring.

Eyelids flutter open and it takes Jacob a second to realize _she’s waking up_. There’s nothing he can do but remain unmoving, hopeful that it’s not deemed as creepy as it seems.

She yawns first, expression crumpling into one of solid _pain_ and _there’s_ that regret he’d promised himself earlier, a sinking in his chest. Jacob clears his throat and her eyes widen, meeting his gaze – clearly startled.

“Morning,” he rumbles.

Rook arches a brow, studying her surroundings. She was back in Dutch’s spare room, but on the bed this time. Under the covers, she notes her wrists are bandaged and completely cuff free. Had Jacob administered the bandages? Her brows draw together. How had she gotten here? She couldn’t remember making it back …

“Never seen you so damn _quiet_ ,” Jacob comments. More silence follows and he finds himself concerned. It’s a dreadful feeling, wanting to be at her side – desperate for that look of fear to dissipate and one of confidence to bloom. _Where is the deputy_?

“What – happened?” She groaned, body not yet prepared for any movement.

“You – uh – clocked out. Just outside the bunker. _Didn’t miss much_.”

The bandages are better off left unmentioned. She’d question that another time. “Are _you_ … okay?” Was he injured by any of the zombies? Bitten, scratched?

“Nothing _I_ can see,” Jacob says.

And that’s what she’s worried about. No, not worried. _Mildly_ concerned about. Of the smallest, most _miniscule_ amount. More for her own safety than his. Not for his safety at all, in fact. _She didn’t care_. No, she doesn’t believe herself either. Rook gives him a look, scepticism at its finest. Jacob is a soldier at heart – if such is still there. He’d pass a blown off leg as a flesh wound, _probably_.

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re not _overly_ convincing,” Rook states.

Jacob scowls. “Convincing? What – you want me t’ _show_ you?”

She shrugs. “If you’ve _checked_ then I’m sure you don’t _mind_ showing me? Unless you’re worried I’ll see something you _missed_?”

A scoff leaves him, loud and clear. “I’ve _checked_ ,” he says firmer this time. Were he several years younger and scar-free, he’d have no problem pulling off his shirt to show off his upper body. But he’s not young, and his body has hideous scars that cover his skin. That’s how he sees them, at least. Unlike John and Joseph who write their sins _on_ them and embrace themselves in the truest form, Jacob is forced to _hide_ beneath his camouflage – _like that helps_.

He’s suddenly aware of her watching him, like she’s asked him a question but he soon realizes his gaze burns twice as heavy upon _her_.

The air is suffocating. “I’ll leave you t’ rest,” he muses, making his way for the door.

“You took off the cuffs …”

His jaw tenses. “I did.”

She doesn’t question that any further, either. “ _Thanks_.” No ‘ _don’t make me regret it_ ’ or ‘ _you try anything and I’ll_ –’  “You can stay … if you want? I don’t mind.”

Tired eyes seem brighter, somehow. He doesn’t respond, but simply returns back to his seat – gaze averted to a picture on the wall. It’s uninteresting to him, however, it keeps him from getting captivated by her features.

“You hear anything from … your brothers yet?”

“Just now, actually,” he responds.

“Oh _shit_ – really?”

He’s amused by her response, unbeknownst to her. “Yeah. They’re fine.” She doesn’t need details.

There’s a question on her lips, face twitching with the need to ask it but she feels she already knows his response. “Jacob?”

“Hm?”

“Would I … Could you show me how t’ use it?”

“The radio?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“No.”

Rook’s expression seems to deplete. “Why not?”

 “I need a reason?”

“I mean I _did_ save your **life** so … yeah.”

Jacob huffs. “Keep tryin’ that card. See who gives a shit.” He pauses to rub a hand down his beard. “You wanna contact your friends. But if your friends know you’re with _me_ , that puts me at _risk_ – and in turn, The Project. So no, I’m not showing you.”

 “I won’t tell them!” She pleads. “I won’t. I won’t mention _any_ of your family! Please, I just wanna talk t’ them. See who’s … who’s still _breathing_.” The Resistance needed a reason to go on. The deputy being alive some powerful fuel. She wouldn’t tell Jacob that, of course.

He watches her for a moment, a debate taking place in his head. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fine. Good enough f’r me.”

“You still … no. Never mind.”

“What?” Rook presses.

“No, it’s not important.”

“ _Jacob_.”

“I’m just … surprised, that you still want contact with them – is all. They’re only gonna take from you, Deputy.”

“That’s _my_ problem,” she defends.

He notes the change of tone and scowls. “Diggin’ your own grave again.”

“Why do you care?” She hadn’t intended for things to escalate but they always seem to, anyway. Fire on fire just makes more fire, after all.

“I don’t!” He snarls. “I couldn’t give two _shits_. **Drown** in it if you wanna. Go fucking _nuts_.”

It had been so pleasant, up until _this_. He would gladly have that every day. That face, the gentle conversation … to the point where he’s ashamed. Terrified, would be a better word – actually. He wanted that but _she_ wanted the Resistance. Wanted her _friends_. Wanted **_Eli_**. Not Jacob.

The fear edges back into her expression and he _backs away_ before the same thing happens again. Eli didn’t deserve to have a woman as strong as the deputy. Her friends don’t deserve someone as generous and willing. He keeps playing an image through his head, of Rook and Eli … just the idea of them being in the same room together has fingernails clawing at the wounds on his arms, rehashing healing scabs.   
It’s being stuck in this bunker that’s done it. Granted, she had his attention from the beginning, it’s being trapped in this small space alongside her and her remarks and her pretty face and her soothing voice … _then let her leave_. That’d be the simple solution, but Joseph wants her with the Project and – he storms out and into the room next door.

Rook lays _stunned_ by the anger the other emits. Clearly not a people person, he’s stuck in here with her and she knows she’s not the _easiest_ to get along with. Why is she sympathising? The guy’s a heartless sadist! Drawing in a deep breath, she pushes herself to sit up – holding in a cry when she realizes how sore her body _is_. “Oh fuck,” Rook exhales, allowing her legs to slip from the covers and over the edge of the bed.

At least she’s still got her clothes on – not including her jacket which she sees has been tossed onto a nearby shelf. The current location of her backpack is unknown, probably stashed back away in Jacob’s room. _She’s not going in there_.

Bare feet touch the ground and her first mission is to find some socks. There’s a pair rolled up at the top of the locker, a bow and arrow sown into them and she wonders if they were Jess’. A frown graces her features. She misses Jess and her unfiltered words. Imagines hearing a ‘fuck’ or a ‘really?’ from the other room and it makes her chuckle. Her gaze falls onto the radio, hands itching at the thought of messing with it. What if Jacob had spoken to a friend of hers already? He’d been searching for his brother’s frequency … he must’ve been in contact with _someone_.

She can’t ask, not right now – without getting her head bitten off. Instead, she settles back on the bed to pull up her socks and sink back beneath the covers. Time was moving slower every time she thought about it. Again, she’s lost track of the date and time. It doesn’t matter right this second. Her eyes ease shut and she drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Rook wakes, it’s not hard to tell it’s going to be an uncomfortable continuation of the day. She had yet to see Jacob since his outburst, eyes opening to the sound of the bunker doors slamming shut. Her heart starts to thrum, anxiety bubbling in her throat as she slips from the covers and fumbles for something to defend herself with.

Where was Jacob? _What if he’s already dead_? There’s a broom positioned behind the door which she grabs and readies as though it’s a baseball bat. Footsteps can be heard coming down the hall, heavy and slow. Rook’s grip tightens and as the sound gets closer when she leaps out, bringing the broom down hard against – _Jacob_?

He’s _definitely_ unamused. Blank expression, he stares for a beat, observing just what the fuck is going on before a hand rises to pinch at his nose. _Give him strength_. “Dare I ask?”

“I heard the doors …” Rook says. “I thought … thought we were under attack or something.”

“An’ you were gonna fight ‘em off with _a broom_?”

She _knows how it looks_ , but if it **had** been someone out to hurt them he’d be surprised by what she _can do_ with just a broom. “If necessary, yeah. Seeing as you won’t leave me any weapons.”

His gaze drops to her _free_ hands, then back to her. “Baby steps.”

“Did you go out?” She was still fixed on hearing the doors go.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“It matter?”

She rolls her eyes. “I just …”

“Not worrying, are you, Dep?” He baits, arching a brow.

“Is there a _shower_ here, somewhere?”

Jacob is silent as he processes, the switch in subject throwing him. “Uh, yeah. Right next t’ the exit.”

“ _Great_ ,” the relief is clear in her tone. She notices he looks somewhat apprehensive. “Thanks,” she mutters, leaning the broom against the wall before making her way down the hall.

“Try not t’ get _lost_.”

“ _Asshole_ ,” she retorts, turning the corner. He’s right to be concerned. The doors to freedom were right there, beside the shower room. But the doors were far too noisy – Jacob would know she was trying to leave in seconds. That's the excuse she tells herself, anyway.

It’s an easy find, a door ajar that leads into a dim room. There’s a shower in the corner, accompanied by a set of towels folded on a nearby shelf and she can’t describe the solace received by the mere sight. Finally, she can fucking shower! Jacob was right. She’d never _not appreciate_ the small luxuries ever again.

_Did you just say Jacob was right_? **Must** be losing your mind.

Nonetheless, Rook’s peels her clothes from her form and tosses them to the floor. It’s cooler in this room, or perhaps it’s because Jacob isn’t there and she can exist safely without his prying eyes. The thought has her halting, reaching for a towel to cover her bare figure as she scans the door she’d left ajar. There’s no one there – of course there isn’t – but the fact of the matter was if she was passing when Jacob was showering she can’t guarantee she might not peek in and … “You’re fucking awful,” Rook says to herself, shutting and locking the door before moving back to turn the shower on.

Carefully, as though skin will tear, she removes her bandages and sets them aside. Her wrists are raw, more so than she’d originally thought, the cuffs doing a significant amount of damage to the point where it looks like she’s wearing bands of red.

Biting her lower lip is a distraction from the way her skin tingles, that feeling soaring to a blistering burn the moment tepid water meets her skin. Rook freezes, allowing herself to adjust to it – the feeling of grime and dirt slithering down her skin and into the drain is ironically blissful and eventually her whole body feels that way. _Like she’s somewhere else_. Floating in a stream beneath the sun, hair rippling down her bruised back after the band keeping it tied up is tugged out and thrown to the floor. It’s phenomenal, warm water a blessing and God if she could just stay here forever.

Eyelids tighten shut and her lips curve into a smirk at the idea of Jacob knocking on the door, demanding she hurry up. Then again, knowing him (she pretends she does, for her own sanity) he’d probably bust the door down and drag her out. A frown overtakes her expression, something that seems to be happening a lot lately.

_Let’s not think about Jacob while showering_. “Just stop _thinking_ , full stop!” She says audibly to herself. Enjoy the peace, the tension in her muscles squeezed out with every drop.

After some time, no longer than half an hour – she’s sure – Rook steps out from the shower and grabs a towel. “Shit,” she grunts, realizing she hadn’t brought any spare clothes with her and there’s no fucking way the clothes _with_ her are being put back on until they’ve been washed. Unlike Jacob, who seemed to wear the same set of clothes every damn day. He must have some kind of secret about that.

Exhaling heavily, the towel is wrapped tightly around her body, dirty clothes left behind for later pickup. Her hair tie is wrapped around her fingers, something to channel her anxiety as Rook makes her way down the hall – back to the room. She just has to pass Jacob’s first, which should be fine. He’s probably busying himself with _something_ anyway.

Okay – _okay_ , the words are mouthed to herself as she stops just out of sight. Quickly, she makes a run for it and instantly she wishes she hadn’t stopped to think. Jacob exists his room, as if on fucking cue, and Rook collides with him. Thankfully, he’s a chunk of muscle with a face and barely _shifts_ a step, though his arms do fly out to steady himself. Rook doesn’t quite know what _she’s_ doing, feet shuffling and forearms pressing into Jacob’s chest like she was breaking a fall against fucking _concrete_. One hand rises as both an apology and a _please don’t hurt me_ , the other hand clutching at her towel to keep it in place.

He looks wholly perplexed and her anxiety skyrockets. Jacob Seed speechless – _who’d have known it was possible?_

“Sorry I didn’t – you were – and I was – that wasn’t supposed t’ –” She sputters, looking left and right like she’s expecting someone to climb out of the wall and assist her explanation.

Jacob holds the expression of someone deciphering a goddamn encrypted message! Rook’s in genuine disbelief he hadn’t snapped her neck on contact. “There a _reason_ you keep fuckin’ **jumping** me, Deputy?” He asks and there’s faint amusement prickling in his cheeks and God is she grateful he’s not mad about it. Still, she stands butt-naked with nothing but a towel as cover and look at that he’s maintaining his composure, at least _one of them_ can.

Rook’s words start off messy as she collects herself, feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable. “I didn’t mean t’ jump you!” She insists. “If _anything_ , **you** jumped _me_!”

Well that’s certainly a different perspective. Jacob hides his emotions painfully well, regarding her – deadpan, before she notices his gaze drift. Not to anywhere she expected, however, but to the inflamed letters that peek out from the towel covering her chest. Lips part before sealing shut as she follows his stare, then looks back to him. The wound itself had healed well, **wrath** engraved into soft, bruise mottled skin but water seemed to _draw it out_ like a party hat on a pig.

The other seems somewhat vacant, gaze moving from the scarring to the bruising and were she not delusional she could’ve sworn she saw a brief frown. She clears her throat and he returns, meeting her gaze for a moment before obviously becoming heavily self-aware that he was staring and then clears his throat too.

“Sorry,” Rook breaks the awkward silence and he shrugs.

“Go ‘n’ put some clothes on. Last thing I need is you _with a cold_.” He turns and re-enters _his_ room, closing the door behind him.

Breathless, she stands for a few seconds before rushing into _her own_ room. Clothes are thrown on as fast as she can manage with the way her body hurts, a red flannel shirt and some camouflage pants. They’re clean, at least, and _just about_ comfortable so she can’t complain.

“Jesus,” she sighs. _What a fucking mess_. How long could this go _on_ for? This is her purgatory, isn’t it? Eternal suffering alongside the man who made her life an actual nightmare. Yet somehow, she thinks … _things could be a lot worse_.

After all, she could be completely alone.

But shouldn’t she _prefer_ that?


	5. Chapter 5

Something clatters next door, Jacob lurching up from where he lay, muscles tensing as he reaches for the pistol beneath his pillow. He hadn’t been sleeping, it was rare for him to achieve that and when he did … well, it never lasted for long.

Eyes squint, his lights are out but he’s been awake for enough time to adjust, to make out the room’s layout. Another crash comes from the deputy’s room and he jumps to his feet, keeping his weapon ready as he strains to listen.

“No … Please! Get away! N-Not … No!”

She can be heard calling out, _crying_ out, howling at **someone** and he wonders if a survivor’s broken in. He convinces himself that  Rook is in danger and that is the only thing he can think about. A shadow stumbles past his door, a sharp cry following it and he races into the hall – aiming his weapon at the figure illuminated by the dim lights.   
Jacob checks Rook’s room, craning his neck to find it empty. _Where was she_?

 “What did you _do_ to her?” He growls, pistol aimed and bloodshot gaze fixated as step after step he closes in. Soon enough, however, he can make out the figure _as_ Rook who appears to be terrified of something Jacob can’t see. “Deputy?” He calls cautiously. No response, just a loud sob followed by a string of _nos_. “Deputy,” he says again, softer this time. Shit, _she’s really out of it_ , completely unaware of his presence.

Third time lucky, he takes a physical approach, a palm flattening upon her shoulder. The sound Rook makes, almost animalistic, has him fearful that she’s turned. Died in her sleep and is suffocating in that … nothingness. Died from her wounds, from _his_ hands. He’s proven wrong when she starts shouting at him, stumbling backwards and tripping. She lands on her rear, scrambling away from him and Jacob acknowledges that if he doesn’t act fast and do something she’s going to hurt herself.

_It’s a nightmare_ , he thinks. _Just like he has_. Though he doesn’t know of her traumas, he can tell she’s _petrified_. He remembers back to their first day in the bunker, when he’d watched her sleep. That sounds terrible, even to him. But he recalls her muttering to herself, tossing and turning, sweat glazing pale skin and … the point is, it would seem they have something in common after all.

Rook’s back meets the wall with a thud, trapped. Jacob closes in, unsure of how to go about waking her. “Get away from me!” She snarls, a cornered mountain lion and God does she look ready to kill.

“ ** _Deputy_** ,” he tries to soothe, reaching out – their bodies a few inches apart but Rook responds with violence, lashing out, shoving and punching as best she can. Before the cult, she hadn’t been much of a hitter but a lot has happened in that time. She packs quite the fucking punch now, as Jacob finds out.

_Worry about that later_ , was his motto, for it’s spoken internally before he’s grasping for Rook’s forearms, avoiding the wounds on her wrists. The fighting soon ceases, turning to sharp sobs and begging. Jacob’s gut tenses as he firmly shakes her. “It’s me, Dep, _you’re alright_. Come on back.”

Her eyes are already open, the fear within them violently aflame but her gaze itself is empty, vacant. Physically, she’s here, but mentally she’s somewhere else and no one relates to that better than _Jacob_. To the point where he can instantly _tell_ when she’s back, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, joints locking and frame tensing. It’s like waking up in quicksand with no recollection of how you got there, when or _why_.

“J-Jacob?” She stutters, gaze steadily rising to meet his own, searching his features to make sure it’s him. Her fingers entwine, subconsciously, with his jacket, hands trembling – skin stone cold in his grasp.

“Yeah, Dep,” he confirms. “You’re alright. _You’re safe_.”

Rook chokes, as if trying to compose herself but it’s too soon. A sob follows, with more tears and the way she cowers _against_ him, like he’s the barrier between her and death … His grip releases which is a mistake because he’s got no idea what to do with his hands, leaving them to hang awkwardly at his sides. One rises to pat between her shoulders, the only comfort he’s familiar with.

Time passes, he’s got no idea _how much_ of it they’ve been stood the way they are but Rook’s stopped crying and the trembling is almost non-existent. “You good?” he asks quietly, uncertain of the strength in his tone after going a while without speaking. Rook nods against his chest, the friction an odd sensation. He knows she’s not though. Knows this will haunt her for a while, both the terror itself and probably this ordeal with _him_. **_He knows_**.

Jacob is the first to step away, giving Rook some space. She draws in a deep breath, running a hand through her half-dried hair. Dutch didn’t have a hairdryer.

It’s clear as the damn day neither of them has figured out how to progress from this. Jacob’s gaze is searing on her, waiting for _something_. “Thanks,” she says, barely audible but _he hears it_.

He shrugs in return, ever the conversationalist.

“Guess I – uh – I’ll head back …”

Jacob nods. “Yeah. If that’s – _yeah_.” There’s a terrible weight in his chest, letting her go back to her room alone. _Why not?_ A part of him argues. **_You_** _always had to_. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Rook disappears into her room and he finds himself dizzy. “ _Shit_ ,” he’s really put himself in it this time. Shaking his head, his body moves on autopilot, leading him back into his room. The lights remain off but he seats himself on the edge of his bed, face in his hands because he’s stuck on what just happened.

Reliving it in his head, his palm against her back, her head against his chest. The look in her eye like that of someone being saved, _rescued_. He didn’t have to do that, either. He could’ve left her to wake up alone and injured, left her as prey to the anguish in her head. His body shifts onto the bed so that he’s lying flat, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. The worst part about it all is that he wants it again.

_She wants the Resistance_. _Wants her friends_. _Wants_ **_Eli_**. _Not you_.

“Jacob?”

His gaze snaps to the door to see Rook peeking in, voice nothing above a whisper as she calls out to him. “Mm?” He doesn’t trust his voice. There’s a pause, like Rook isn’t sure what she’s asking. He doesn’t think she can see him in the darkness of the room, her own gaze not focussed on him. It looks like she’s looking at the other bunkbed and he has to keep himself from snorting.

“Can – are you – d’ you mind if I sleep in here t’night?” Another pause. “I don’t feel like being alone after ... y’know.”

She wants to sleep in _his_ room? _With him_? His hearts beating noticeably faster and _he hates this_. He’s got two options, cave and let her sleep in one of the bunkbeds or tell her no and _tough_. “Long as you don’t fuckin’ snore,” leaves his lips without permission had he scowls at himself. _You’re becoming everything you worked so hard to never be_.

Rook scoffs. “Fuck you, I _don’t_ snore.”

His lip threatens to curve upwards. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“I **_don’t_** snore!” She repeats, insisting.

“Just _get_ in a goddamn bed, would you?”

She hesitates in the light of the doorway. “Could you ... close your eyes?”

“What?”

“ _Please_?”

“I’m in  _darkness_ , Dep,” he assures, brows furrowing.

She doesn’t move. “Can you ... _see_ anything?”

“Nope,” he lies, quietly propping himself up on his elbows.

Rook runs in, feet pattering against the ground before she comes to a halt at the end of his bed. She’s wearing the same red flannel as before, however, her pants have been replaced by a pair of boxers that hang loosely from her hips. _Could you close your eyes?_ He wonders how he hadn't spotted them in their earlier interaction. Then again, there had been more important things at hand. Rook grapples for the top bunk, heaving herself up because for whatever reason, the previous occupant had _removed the ladders_. As she climbs, Jacob can’t pry his eyes from exposed skin, her legs slim but muscle shows through – albeit _not a lot_.

_That’s why you’re so goddamn skinny_. It’s a wonder she’s made it this far.

This must be some sort of test. Torturous, tempting ... It’s a suffering he doesn’t think he’s felt before. A hunger he hasn’t experienced since he was much younger. It amplifies his _loneliness_ like the dark of the night does the moon. Before, he could distract himself from his mind. Replace one war zone for another. But there was currently no war to fight, which is probably why he keeps searching to start one with the woman in the bunk above. Enough. “You done?” He asks when the squeaking of the bed frame stops.

“Yeah, sorry.”

More silence. It’s grating, his inability to see her face, pry into her mind and see her thoughts ...

“So this is fun,” Rook says, tone implying the complete opposite.

Jacob’s eyes roll when in actual fact he couldn’t be more grateful. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“Not here ‘cause I wanna be,” Rook bites back and Jacob’s sure he _felt_ it. “That – _shit_. That sounded – I didn’t mean it _like that_ ...”

“Like what?” Good cover. _Pretend you didn’t even notice_. He can hear Rook stutter.

“Like I – _I don’t know_. Just –”

“You thought you’d hurt my feelings.”

Rook bites her lip. _So he doesn’t deny that he has them_ ... “Maybe.”

“I’m _touched_ , Deputy.”

“Oh _shut up_ ,” she groans. “You ever take a day off?”

“Hm?”

“From being a world class _dick_.”

His jaw tenses, mind drifting to whether she _likes_ that or not. Maybe he’s pushing her _away_   with it. Maybe he’s – **stop**! _Stop caring_! “Practice makes perfect.”

“Yeah, _right_.” A beat. “Jacob?”

“What?”

“Thanks again.”

Here she goes again. Jacob’s lips part and clamp shut several times before he decides that’s enough talking. “Get some rest, Dep.”

_They’re going to fucking need it to get through this_.

 

* * *

 

At some point, Rook must’ve passed out because she jolts awake, though not _because of her mind_ this time. The bunkbed is moving, rattling and clanking and panic expands between her ribs. “What the _fuck_?” She rasps, grasping for the side of the bed to keep herself from being _thrown_ off it. Leaning over, she sees Jacob’s shadow of a figure – her eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, but it’s clear he’s either having a nightmare or a goddamn seizure. “Jacob!” She cries out as the bed judders.

The asshole doesn’t respond and she grits her teeth, dropping down onto the floor because fuck that. Her stomach instantly settles, nausea fading and she is able to think clearer. Her _own_ incident was unusual, usually she would talk / cry out in her sleep accompanied by the odd toss and turn, sweating and anxiety but nothing she couldn’t overcome. It was rare she’d venture out of bed and do what she did. But Jacob ... Jacob looked like he was trying to fight an army in his sleep. No wonder his bedsheets were a mess. She remembers the question had crossed her mind the first time she’d seen them and finds herself _regretting_ having wondered.

“Shit,” she breathes, stepping closer. He tosses and turns every few seconds, incoherent speech no less threatening. His dog tags clink together with each shift and tremble, blood staining his bedding from what she assumed to be the wounds scattering his arms. _How does she go about this_? Poke him and risk getting smacked in the face?

Carefully, warily, she seats herself on the very edge of his bed – beside his legs. It’s a heart-wrenching sight, even a man that seems so collected and confident brought to his knees by his demons. Rook places a hand on the bedding, pausing for a moment when he tosses away from her. Now’s her chance. The same hand moves over to his bicep, hovering nervously before she lets it rest there, gently pressing down.

She makes a hushing sound, fingers squeezing barely as she speaks. “It’s a dream, Jacob. I’ve got you.” After repeating the words a few times, Jacob shifts and Rook worries he’s going to wake up. She’s not sure how he’d feel if he knew she was poking and prodding him in his sleep. It wasn’t like that, but that’s without a doubt how he’d perceive it. A sound escapes him, something so soft, seemingly _comforted_ , it catches Rook off-guard.

Sometimes you forget that _even your enemies are people_.

Her muscles ease at that, hand moving back to her side while she watches. His features are difficult to make out in this lighting, but she can tell he’s expressionless. Not in a typical deadpan kind of way, but an element of peace is hinted in the contrast of his brows. It’s _endearing_ , to the point where she has to drag her eyes away and to the wall. Jacob Seed, endearing. Right.

Rising from her seat, Rook moves to the other bunkbed, setting herself up on the bottom bunk. It means she can keep and eye on him from here, and if it happens again at least she won’t get thrown off and onto the goddamn floor.

The duvet is pulled up to her face, eyes peeping as she stares in Jacob’s direction. What had happened earlier that day ... evening? It was just kicking in, _and boy was it kicking_. She remembers the warmth emanating from his body, his breath on her scalp – the concern in his eyes ... She’s writing a fairy tale for herself, because there’s no way that’s what was going through **his** mind.

He was probably annoyed she’d woken him up. Annoyed that she’s one problem after another. Then just when he thinks he’s rid of her, she comes waddling back in like a fucking lost puppy. He probably cannot wait for her to be out of his hair. Is probably debating whether to kill her now or later right this second in his sleep. **_Probably_**.

Rook slumps, exhaling her frustration. She knows Jacob wants to get back to his brothers. Knows he has made contact with them and is probably establishing a plan to find them. It might be a case of stocking up and leaving the bunker. She couldn’t recall when they’d left the bunker, it felt like forever since then, but the idea of going back out there ... with those creatures ... It made her skin crawl.

What if she loses Jacob while she’s out there? _What if he dies_?

Useless worrying, that’s what this is. She curls up into her bedding and shuts her eyes tight, hoping tomorrow is less ... _exhausting_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short chapter this time. I was going to add more but didn't want to kill the mood. Got some good stuff coming up!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting saucy. kinda.

The next morning, Jacob finds himself in what he’d call a smooth awakening. He doesn’t bolt upright, isn’t out of breath, his heart isn’t racing ... it’s odd, to say the least. Appreciated, but odd. His covers are pushed back and he sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his stretch of hair, then down his face and into his beard.

He recalls last night like he’s reading it off the back of his hand, a finger twitching against his knee. Rising to his feet, he cranes his neck to glance over his shoulder – to find Rook _missing_. A brow arches and he blinks, thinking he’s just not seeing her but nope. She’s definitely gone, vanished from the top bunk and he can’t deny the disappointment that seeps into his chest.

Was it the nightmares? Had he scared her away? He exhales heavily. That was often the case. It hits him even harder knowing they weren’t even in the same damn bed! The thoughts that follow _that_ train are immediately ignored, shoulders rolling away the weight forming in his joints. If that’s the case, then he sits back on his bed – staring at the floor.

Even one day at a time is painfully fruitless. He needs to find a secure line on the other radio to allow him contact with his brothers. From there, they can plan a  _reunion_. In order to return to his family, he must find his way there, with the deputy and clear a path for themselves. It sounds so easy in his head, but the reality is that they have no idea how many zombies are out there, only so many hours of daylight and a significant amount of ground to cover in order to reach Joseph. On top of that, what is known about the dead is little – which discomforted him. Jacob was a man of knowledge, with an unabashed interest in the human brain. Not knowing what he was walking into sounded ... risky. Even in the military, he at least knew about his enemy.

His gaze rises, peripheral vision catching onto movement and he has to do a double take to spot the deputy’s head peeking out from beneath the covers. _She never left_. A grumble leaves rosy lips in her slumber and Jacob’s having trouble _denying_ how affected he is by her.   
How can something, _someone_ that incredibly petite, compared to himself, be as durable and – dare he say – strong at the same time? She was a challenge, one he wanted to go up against ... _potentially in more ways than one_.

Another sound, a yawn, leaves her, breaking him from his awful thoughts and Jacob finds himself in a vulnerable position. He can’t be seen staring _again_!

Swiftly, he’s on his feet and heading for the door – vanishing just as Rook’s eyes open.

She glances over to his messy bed and squints, noticing Jacob is missing.

_Missing_ , her conscience mocks. _You don’t have to be in each other’s proximity every second of the damn day, you know?_

Slipping from her covers, Rook’s bare legs are met with the warmth of the bunker. She stretches, keeping her yawn quiet to keep from alerting Jacob she’s awake. _Let her put some pants on first_. Sneaking over to the door, Rook peers into the hall. When she sees it’s empty, she turns the corner, enters her own room and begins searching for her camo bottoms. They’re where she’d left them, dumped at the bottom of her bed.

With her legs covered, a personal preference, she heads back into the hall in search of Jacob.

Why is she searching in the first place? Can’t the man have some peace? Her thoughts drifted back to before she fell asleep. That she's nothing more than a pain in his ass. Weak. Her form halts in the doorway of the control room, spotting the other leaning over the room’s radio. If he’d noticed her presence, he didn’t say anything – prompting her to retreat back into the hall. _He’s probably sick of you_. And who is she to think otherwise, right? There’s no evidence to encourage her.

Therefore, that’s exactly what she does – retreating back to her room, keeping her head low. Because she was nothing more than a goddamn pest.

 

* * *

 

Hours had passed, Rook’s entertainment mostly being dissociating and reading whatever Dutch had lying around, from books to notes. She remembers Dutch had a lot of stuff about the Seeds, observations pinned up and Rook wonders if Jacob’s read any of them. If he cares enough. He strikes her as one of those people who deep down _and_ on the surface don’t give a fuck what others think of them. It’s most likely true to an extent, but everyone had something that got under their skin. Messed with their head. _Hurt them_.

“Shit,” she utters, thinking about how things might go if they end up finding Joseph. There’s no way she’s joining The Project – they’d have to drag her kicking and screaming. On second thought, she doesn’t doubt they _would_.

The idea of having to hurt Jacob ... betray him in some way ... it didn’t settle with her. They have a good thing going here, albeit sometimes blurry, it’s good. It’s _safe_. Although that could just be _cabin fever_. She keeps forgetting Jacob tortures people, enslaves them, _eats_ them.

Her gaze settles on a crate behind her door, seemingly filled with bottles. Lips purse, curiosity piqued – undoubtedly because of her agonising boredom, and she drops off the edge of her bed and approaches it. Eyes widen, brows rising, “holy shit!” She says gleefully. Merlot, _tonnes_ of it. She’s not much of a wine woman, but God did alcohol sound fucking _great_ right about now.

Rook reaches down, plucking a bottle out – reading the label. Looks fine, unopened and she hates to think that _it won’t be any use to Dutch_. The lid is unscrewed, nose hovering to inhale its scent before she glances around for a glass that _isn’t there_. Shrugging, she presses her lips to the mouth of the bottle, tipping it to taste some. _That’ll do just fine_ , she thinks, retreating back to her bed.

One deputy and several bottles of wine. What could go wrong?

 

* * *

 

An exasperated sigh leaves Jacob, lip near raw from his gnawing concentration. He’s managed to secure a signal, finally, but has yet to contact his brothers through it and it’s getting late. Not that he plans to sleep tonight, especially after last night’s nightmare but it’s better to stick to routine.

Sitting back in his chair, a finger taps thoughtfully at his knee, becoming aware that the deputy’s yet to make an appearance and it’s almost been _a whole day_. It’s not like her, not irritating and pushing him. In fact, he almost misses it. Almost.

He stands with a gruff exhale, eyes burning as he blinks. That’s when he catches onto the music blaring down the hall. Brows furrow, _what’s she getting up to_? Exiting the control room, the music is much clearer, but he can’t hear any actual damage taking place. He expects to _see_ some.

Tired and naturally agitated, Jacob approaches and stands in the deputy’s doorway. There’s a record player balancing on one of the shelves – _the culprit of the racket_. Cry to me by Solomon Burke blasts from a speaker on the desk beside it. He notices an empty wine bottle discarded on the floor, gaze drifting to moving feet, then up until he meets her eyes. She’s making her way through a _second_ bottle and dancing to the music. “What the _fuck_?”

“ ** _Jacob_**!” She grins, a gross lacking in sobriety tell-tale by the joy in her voice. _Why would she be happy to see him_? “You’re never gonna guess what I found!”

“Pretty sure I’ve got a _good guess_ ,” he grinds out.

“Fucking _wine_ , Jacob!” As though it's not damn obvious. “Dutch had a whole stash just sitting around, can you _believe_ it?”

The second bottle is almost empty and his expression is threaded with concern. She’s going to drink herself to death. _Do it quietly_. “Give me the bottle,” he says, demanding tone cutting. He closes in on her, reaching for the liquid but she keeps him at arms length, fighting back as she tries to chug more. “F’r fuck’s sake, Deputy –”

“Mm- _mm_!” She refuses angrily. Red dribbles down her chin as she stops to speak. “Who d’ you think you are, ruining my fun?”

Her words sting, snaking past his guarded expression with terrifying ease. “You know what? Go ahead. Fuckin’ drink it all, I don’t care,” he bites, storming back to his own room. He throws a fist at the frame of the top bunk, the pain engulfing his hand thrilling. “Fucking deputy. Thinks she knows fuckin’ everything. Kept her fuckin’ alive and that’s what I get?” Worry lingers like a bad smell, worry that he might do something if he doesn’t distract himself.

He climbs into bed, turning on his side as if to shun the direction of her room but soon finds the music is too much. There’s no way he can sleep with that going on. Hands are trembling as he steps back out from his bed, fury a poor description of the suffocating frustration that swells like reflux. _She’s stubborn_. She’s just fucking stubborn and doing her _goddamn_ best to piss him off.

In seconds, he’s back in her room, heading for the record player like a wolf to meat. Rook puts herself between the two, her body still moving with the melody as she blocks Jacob’s path. “ _Move_ ,” he spits.

“You’re so grumpy!” She teases, poking at his chest. “Grumpy Seed!”

“ ** _Move_** , Deputy,” he says again with venom.

Rook merely grins, hands reaching out to grasp at his wrists.

His gaze fixates on her face, studying every expression she pulls. _What are her intentions_?

“ _I_ need a dance partner,” she states, matter of fact.

Jacob pulls away at first. “ _That’s_ not happening.”

“‘cause you can’t? Or you don’t wanna?”

He contemplates, brows drawing together. “Shut it off. I’m goin’ t’ bed.”

Persistent as fuckin’ ever, Rook manages to get a hold of his wrists, attempting to lead him in the dance she’s improvising.

The touch has him tensing. It’s soft but her grip is unyielding, _unnerving_. Captivated under her playful stare, his arms go where she takes them, guarded amusement _sneaking_ over **muted** when she suddenly takes his hand and _slaps_ him with it.

Rook snorts, the look on his face is priceless. He stares her down, anger blooming behind cautious blue ... Her smile has him easing, arms moving once more _until she does it again_ and takes a few steps back, profoundly pleased with herself.

“That what you wanted?” He sneers.

Rook doesn’t speak as she closes back in on him, daredevil glint in her eyes and he wonders how far her death wish stretches.

He’s angry, positively furious and it’s permanently dormant in the lines of his face but he can’t help watching as she moves. Treacherous test, she’s taunting him, stretches of hidden skin peeking out at him with every rise of her arms and swing of her hips. She’s got the same boxers on as yesterday but is far less self-conscious this time and for that he’s thankful – legs not clean-shaven but still smooth in appearance, skinniness allowing muscle to show and a part of him wishes to see her become stronger, put some more meat on her ...

He snaps from his daze when something touches him, hands – two of them, Rook’s palms resting flat against his stomach. There’s a change in his gaze, avoidant, nervous ... She’s careful not to push her luck. He reaches out to move her away but she catches his hands in her own, watching his reaction as she places them back to his sides. Palms creep back to his front, a finger hooking at the bottom of his t-shirt to allow her hands to slip under and onto what feels like terribly scarred skin.

Jacob can only stand and stare, helpless beneath her angelic touch. He exhales a shaky breath, abdomen muscles contract at her cooling contact, breathing so shallow it’s like _he’s not_ , in case it causes him to _miss_ something. He observes her features, expecting disgust or even pity but all he sees is _fascination_.

Her hands smooth over his abs, their journey painfully slow and Jacob finds himself bewildered as to how they got here. “Deputy,” he manages gruffly. The touch starts to drift down, _down_ and he has to remember that she’s not sober in the goddamn slightest. He takes her forearms in his hold, pulling her hands back into sight where he can _keep track of them_.

Speechless, again – Jacob can’t do anything more than stare at the other who seems somewhat humiliated and pulls away from him, backing up.

“Hit me,” she says calmly.

“What?”

“Hit me, asshole.”

“I’m not gonna hit you,” Jacob refuses, caught off-guard by her request.

“That’s ‘cause you’re weak,” she taunts. “Jacob Seed is fucking _weak_.”

“ _Deputy_ ,” he warns.

“Whatever,” Rook turns and picks up another bottle, stumbling back with it in hand.

Jacob’s brows furrow. He’s not going to let her drink another drop and takes a step forward. “Put it down.”

“ _Bossy_.”

There’s a fire blossoming in his bones, beneath his skin – chest feeling bare after _whatever that was_. This woman is getting on his last fucking nerve. “Put it _down_ , Deputy.”

Rook teases taking the lid off, sticking her tongue out at him. “Make me.”

Something in him clicks and he lunges at her, their bodies colliding with the ground. Rook struggles beneath him, managing to kick him off with a dull thud before scrambling to her feet. He’s back up in seconds, grabbing at her shoulders but she manages to throw her elbow out, hitting him in the neck. Their bodies crash into the wall, the beyond-scuffle doing more damage to the items around them. Jacob grabs her and they tumble again, onto the bed this time where he pins her. “Fuck you!” Rook snarls, hooking a leg over his hip to heave their bodies back to the floor. Jacob lands on the discarded bottle, his shoulder sliding against the ground as Rook struggles against him. There’s a cut on Rook’s forehead, fresh crimson dripping onto his cheek.

Rook’s on top of him, leg being crushed by Jacob’s weight. Out of breath, they pant heavily into each other’s faces which are but inches apart.

He’s staring, scorching gaze violent with both passion and anxiety.  Rook blinks, more alcohol than muscle, her own gaze studying her blood on his skin. Jacob’s stare moves to her lips, she’s so close he can taste her and it’s _killing_ him. The energy in his body needs to go somewhere, and he finds himself trembling with anticipation.   
He’s ready for it, to close the distance, heart thrumming in his chest when he notices Rook’s eyes widen. She _flies_ off of him and dangles her head over the nearby bucket before the consumed wine makes a _second_ appearance.

A strangled sound leaves Jacob, his stare now directed at the ceiling – between the sound of Rook vomiting and the surging pain exploding in his shoulder, he’s _pretty_ sure this is as bad as things can get.

_Touch fucking wood_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm EAGER to know what you guys thought of this chapter? do you think things will get worse for them?


	7. Chapter 7

They’re sat on different bunks, distance muggy between them as Rook leans over her bucket. The vomiting has subsided, but her body aches like she’s fallen from a goddamn window. She’s able to tell  _just how close_  Jacob had been to dislocating her hip, his weight that of a boulder compared to her own - especially the position they landed in.  _She’s not going to think about that_.

Not going to think about how close they were, how her skin burst into flames when their bodies collided, how a part of her wanted to seal their lips … Jacob’s shaky breath when she touched him …

“Fuck,” Rook groans.

Jacob puffs bluntly in response. She wonders what’s going on in  _his_ head. 

_You were drunk_ ,  _you are **still** drunk_, her conscience scolds her.

Uncertainty shrouds around her, around how they would move on from this. Pretend it never happened, probably? She needs to reassure Jacob that he remains her enemy. That what happened …  _she was drunk_. 

He continues to bring her glasses of water, which is  _surprising_ to a degree. Then she thinks he’s likely desperate for her to return back to normal so they can get on with whatever he had planned. Whatever normal was, for her.

Eventually, however, he rises from his seat and leaves without speaking. She doesn’t ask where he’s going or what he’s doing - but she watches intently as he goes. She’s not sober enough for humility, head buzzing obnoxiously.

The bucket is placed on the floor beside her bed, hair strung up into a tight ponytail before she curls beneath the covers to rest. She’s going to need more water.

 

* * *

 

Deny it all, pretend it never happened. A bull in a china shop, Jacob rams into the bathroom door sending it crashing open. He approaches the small mirror hanging above the sink, teeth gritted as hands rest on the bowl, head dipping and back slumping. Words refuse to leave parted lips, his glower focusing on his reflection as blood oozes down his left arm.

_How about that_  … He’d known there was pain -  _the blood makes it look worse than it is_ , he thinks. Carefully, he pats his shoulder down, unable to crane his neck far enough to see the damage. He stops when something solid nudges against his hand, a shard of glass - to be precise. “Shit,” he says, accepting but frustrated nonetheless. What a fucking pain in the ass. It’s going to need stitches, without a doubt, stitches that will tear with too much movement.

They’re supposed to be leaving in the next few days, maybe even  _a day_. There’s a medkit hanging on the wall near the door which he snatches up - clumsily dropping it. Testing his patience evermore. It’s picked up and taken over to the sink where he rests it, searching its contents for something useful.

There’s rubbing alcohol, bandages, gauzes, wipes, a needle and thread … the lot. At least it’s not going to get infected. But it’s going to be a fucking task, considering he can barely even  _see_ the wound.

Jacob takes his time removing his jacket, biting back what he feels when he sees the blood staining it. It’s hung on the wall to the side, before he makes a start peeling off his t-shirt. Dog tags jingle lifelessly around his neck, sharp grunts seething through grinding teeth as pain spreads like fractured bone. It’s dropped to the floor once removed and his gaze falls back on his reflection. He doesn’t look a day over exhausted, hair slicked with sweat and face flecked with cuts from the earlier scuffle - if you could call it that. 

He couldn’t quite recall the full turn of events. Make me, and he’d lost it. Her touch had been ethereal, breath-taking in the best of ways and rendered him to a puddle on the floor. He’s not been touched, let alone  _like that_ , for some time. Jacob clears his throat, attempting to distract himself, but he can’t help fathoming how she’s managed to get  _under his skin_. Armoured skin, protected by thorns and thistles and layers of stone behind sturdy mountains. He’s spent so much of his life building the perfect fortress and she’s fucking stepped right on through. It’s  _haunting_.

Like a band aid, he pulls the glass out and drops it, a fist balling at the pain that bites across and down his arm. There’s blood in his mouth, most likely from where he’s bitten his lip subconsciously.

The wound needs cleaning first, lifting and tipping to allow the liquid to roll down split skin and he can’t deny that it fucking  _burns_. A wipe is unwrapped and he tries to clean away the edges of the wound before he takes the needle between thumb and index finger, which are quite the opposite of limber. 

He already knows this is going to be near impossible, and even if he does succeed it’s going to be an absolute mess.  _He’s not asking for help_. Craning his neck, he reaches back, needle hovering over flushed skin and he can’t … quite … manage to - “fuck!” He bellows, throwing the needle back into the box before launching his fist at the mirror - causing it to shatter and shower the sink with tiny pieces. His last nerve ripped out and thrown sky high.  _Great_ ,  _there goes his helping hand_.

From there, he stands, resting over the sink - ruggedly breathing as he watches his hands tremble and blood begin to form in the lines of his knuckles.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s taken some time, but Rook’s finally managing to drift off to sleep. It’s been a while since Jacob left, though she’s got little perception of  _how long_ , therefore she tries to pass out for a few hours. Maybe even a day, if she’s lucky.

Within seconds of closing her eyes, there’s an unsettling crash that echoes down the hall and Rook jolts upright, eyes  _wide_.  _That had to be Jacob_. Her mind doesn’t consider he might simply be hitting things. No, instead, she’s certain he’s fallen and injured himself and fuck knows why she’s running, racing up the hall to the source of the sound but  _she is_. 

“Jacob?” She calls, peering into the control room.  _Not there_. She starts toward the shower room, but halts at the sound of breathing coming from her left. Peeking in past the doorframe, she finds the bathroom door wide open, red lighting rouging the storage room floor. There’s a trail of blood, a few drops here and there which she follows to find Jacob hunched over the sink - shirtless, shaking and bleeding. A lump forms in her throat.

The police didn’t train her for any of _this_ shit. Well, first aid - sure. But living alongside Jacob Seed?  _She doesn’t think anyone can prepare for that_. “ _Jacob_ ,” her tone is scolding as Rook takes in the scene before her like she’s discovered a kid making a mess with forbidden paints. 

“It’s  _good_ ,” Jacob grinds out. “Don’t need you.” A clear as day  ** _fuck off_**  put lightly. She’s impressed. 

“I disagree,” she says pointedly.

“The deputy bein’ difficult. Fuckin’  _shocker_.”

Rook doesn’t respond to that, cautiously approaching his mountainous form - similar to when she first met Cheeseburger. Although Jacob is _much_ more likely to rip her throat out.

She doesn’t touch him, not yet, the energy he emits intoxicating. Standing beside him, she assesses the damage. The shattered mirror, the crimson crisscrossing his knuckles, the river of red painting his left arm, the shard of glass discarded by his feet … “Christ, Jacob,” she says.

“Said I didn’t want a fuckin’ _audience_ ,” he warns her.

“You think you can do this yourself, do you?” It’s not a question, it’s a different perspective to highlight how stupid he’s being. “‘Don’t be so _proud_.”

Jacob turns on her, working hard to hide the wince that contorts his features. He doesn’t have the energy for this. “Fuckin’  _testing_ me, Dep.”

“Then stop  _fighting_ me,” she pleas. “Let me help you.”

The look he gives is priceless, war-torn masculinity.

“You didn’t  _ask_. I’m  **offering** ,” she  _says_ offering, it’s more like if he _doesn’t_ let her she’s going to do it anyway. Besides, Rook understands. There’s an element to asking for help she hates. No doubt Jacob sees it as waving a white flag; _weakness_.

There’s no use fighting it, and Rook seems to acknowledge there’s something about  _asking_ for it that catches him. But she’s  _offering_. That changes things. He remains silent, however.

“Oh would you  _come on_ ,” she hounds. “There’s  _no one here_ , Jacob. Just you ‘n’ me.”

“Like I need  _reminding_.”

She bites her tongue. He’s not going to push her away from this. A scowl consumes her features, watching him with her cheek between her teeth.

Jacob can  _feel_ her looking. Feel her frustration.  _She needs to stop that_. “God **dammit**. Fine.  _Fine_. Get it over with.”

She grins and he feels himself ache just that little bit more. “Alright,” she says, picking up the needle and thread. “You already clean it?”

“Yeah. ’s all gone. None f'r  _you_.”

Rook scoffs, rolling her eyes. He’s insinuating an alcohol problem and honestly, she can’t blame him.   
She  _barely_ needs to prepare herself before pressing on, threading the needle into and out of his flesh, an expert after the number of times she’s had to do it herself. It’s different on someone else, however. Especially someone like Jacob.

It’s a delicate process, she can feel him tensing, wanting her to hurry up and get it over with,  _that he can handle it_ , but she doesn’t care. She’ll take her time with this.

Something he’s noticed in the way she touches him, feather-like in texture but he senses  _she’s not afraid_. Doesn’t tip-toe around him like everyone else seems to. He can barely feel her work, his own gaze studying her with undaunted intensity. Prying for her thoughts.

It’s only just occurred to him that he’s shirtless, self-confidence dwindling with every heartbeat. She’s  _felt_ his skin, sure, but seeing was a whole ‘nother experience. She doesn’t seem to care, or maybe she’s just a fucking pro at hiding it.  _Like he is_. “Shit,” it slips out, an internal thought and she looks up with those stunning eyes and …

“What?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” good save,  **not**. Now she looks suspicious, squinting at him.

His gaze averts to the glass scattered in the sink, avoiding Rook’s undisclosed questions.

The fact that he’s shirtless wouldn’t usually get to her, but admittedly she’s still affected by her wine splurge. The red lighting covers the blush riding up to her cheeks and it’s increasingly difficult to find the willpower not to trace his abs. They’re not greatly defined, but there’s a ruggedness about Jacob that’s recklessly charming. The scars, in her opinion, aren’t flaws or even unattractive. They’re another part of him, what makes him who he is. They tell a story of the things he’s been through, perhaps not the context or the detail but it’s evidence enough that Jacob has suffered. She’s got respect for him, in that regard. _Woah, woah – respect? For him?_

“Almost done,” she breathes, finishing up with the thread. Rook leans in, biting at it and she can feel Jacob shift beneath the contact.  _She doesn’t mention it_. There’s an adhesive dressing packaged in the box too, which she opens and sticks over the wound. “This is gonna put you in the shit for a while, you know that right?”

He looks at her with hatred singeing the corners of his eyes. “You’re  _right_ , it’s almost like I had no fuckin’ choice in the matter ‘cause  _someone else_  pushed me onto it.”

“Are you really blaming me for this?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“You’re the one that fucking  _jumped at me_!”

His gaze lingers  _past_ her. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Dep.”

So he’s denying that ever happened? Fine. Two can play at that game. “I’ll leave you t’ clean up your mess then, shall I?” It’s not a question. She starts for the door, anger expelled in each step.

“Dep,” he calls to her.

Rook halts, debating what to do before deciding to turn back to face him. “What?”

“Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

She stutters, knowing better than to expect anything other than venom to spill from his lips and yet here she is, disappointed. Her back turns to him and she storms out. “ _Asshole_ ,” and the door slams.

 

* * *

 

 

Jacob’s been in the bathroom for at least an hour - since she left. Or so she thinks. He could’ve snuck into the control room … It’s unlikely he’d be looking for _fresh clothes_ , after all. 

Rook’s half asleep, head heavy on her pillow.   
She wonders if Jacob’s men wash his clothes _for_ him. Wonders if he uses the same _one_ jacket that is cycled through the wash every couple of days, or maybe he never washes it. She’s going to hope the latter isn’t true, for her own peace of mind. Maybe he’s got a whole wardrobe of them? Custom-made, replicas … There’s no tears or bullet holes in his current one, as far as she can recall, and she refuses to believe _he’s just that good_ as to not acquire  _any_ from the Resistance. She thinks, if there are multiple, maybe she can have one.

_Excuse me_? Her conscience pipes up. Rook gives a lengthy groan, turning and burying her face into the pillow beneath her. Did she really just think that?  _Why would you want one of Jacob’s jackets_?  _What’s wrong with you_?

That’s the question, isn’t it? The same as why does she feel more disappointment than anger when they argue? Why does her body overheat every time they storm away from each other? Why does she want him to tackle her again?  _Why does she want to clamber on into the same fucking bed as him_?

Speak of the devil, Jacob steps into the room - distracted by the bowl he carries in his hands when he spots  _her_. Hesitation blooms across scarred features, lips twitching, denying speech as he nears her. The bowl is placed at her feet though his gaze does everything in its power to avoid her own. “We’re movin’ out soon. Better refuel, I’m not carryin’ you this time.”

Ah, he’d been dishing up food then. Rook can sense it in his tone, the bait, eager for a reaction though his expression speaks the total opposite. He plays with her like a cat with a mouse,  _testing her_. She squints at him, suspicious. “Did you poison it?”

“With what?” It’s not a no.

Eye contact, a staring contest that lasts about thirty seconds before Jacob snatches a piece from the bowl and eats it in front of her. “If I wanted you dead, Deputy, I’d'a done it some fuckin’ time ago.”

Rook bites her lip, leaning up to take the bowl in her hands. It’s warm, however, the food isn’t steaming and she wonders if it’s from his _hands_. They’d probably do wonders for the winter cold.

**_Excuse me_**? Her conscience spits again.

Wait and see. Once she gets some fresh air she’ll be right as rain.  _She’d better be_.

“Thanks.” And all she manages to take from that is  _he doesn’t want her dead_. The deputy waits for Jacob to stop hovering before she begins eating. He heads back to his own bunk but he’s staring again. Probably brooding that she didn’t snap back at his  _insinuation_ about their last time outside the bunker. “You not eating?” It’s a question, nothing more, nothing less. She hopes the sincerity in her tone is dulled by innocent curiosity.

“You need it more than me.”

Rook frowns. “Jacob, there’s  _loads_ -”

“Said I’m  _good_ , Dep.”

It’s all well and good that he’s being civil - a peace offering perhaps? But Rook can’t help the anxiety that swells, knowing exactly what happened the last time Jacob went _too long without food_. “Alright,” she says, tucking into the previously canned product. “How’s your arm holding up?”

“Fine.” It’s immediate, so quick it takes Rook a few moments to process it.

“ _Alright_ but you need t’ keep checking it in case it -” Her gaze strays over in his direction, her lips parted but words ceasing when she notices his expression.  _You will die if you continue this_.

It’s like a spotlight is on her,  _cooking_ her. Rook gives her all not to show it, the effect his eyes have on her, giving him the cold shoulder to continue eating.

The feeling she gets is that he  _wants_ conversation, mental stimulation of some kind and she can’t blame him. There’s little to do down here, Dutch’s methods of entertainment somewhat  _old school_. Rook smirks to herself. It’s a surprise Jacob doesn’t indulge in them. 

The smirk disappears, however, when she thinks about his age. She’s got  _no idea_  how old Jacob is. Not a fucking clue. Asking someone’s age isn’t a top priority when they’re  **shooting** at you.

_Why does it matter_? She asks herself.  _You’re going to end up killing each other anyway_.

And she’s starts to agree, except it’s kind of  _nice_  to know who you’re dealing with when touching and nearly kissing them. Heat prickles up her neck when she thinks what  _would’ve_ happened had her stomach behaved itself.

She forgets she  _repressed_  it, almost in denial about the whole thing - certain she imagined it in some delusional state, but knows it’s going to  _stay_ that way.   
Besides, Jacob had undoubtedly interpreted it as nothing more than a fight. It wasn’t unusual, and hell, she might as well jump in her grave  _now_ by bringing it up. “Penny for your thoughts?”  _What are you doing? What was wrong with silence?_

“Not much of an  _eater_ , are y’ Dep?”

Rook looks at the food she’s barely touched, brows drawing together. “I … get  _distracted_.”

Jacob snorts.

“What?”

“You’re tellin’  _me_.”

“Wow,  _instant_ asshole. No warming up? Didn’t think you had it in you,” Rook retorts.

“‘ _Lot_ you don’t know about me.”

“Mr Mysterious, huh?”

He gives a huff of amusement. “Somethin’ like that.” A pause. “That scare you?”

Rook arches a brow to herself. “Mystery?”  Why is he being so damn  _ominous_?

“Sure.”

“God no. I mean - mystery’s good, right? Keeps you on your toes.” The bowl’s warmth is being replaced by her own and she can’t help but think it’s like she’s holding his hands. “Now, if you were t’ tell me you’re part unicorn then I’m sure _I’d have some questions but_ …” Rook grins and when she looks over to him, she notices he’s no longer staring at her, but gazing. Softer, almost  _handsome_. Her grin falters and Jacob averts his gaze.

Just when she worries things are going to fall flat, he looks back to her. “You got a name, Dep?”

Rook nods.

Jacob rolls his eyes. “No, I  **know** you  _got_ a name. I’m askin’ what it  _is_. Your parents didn’t call you Deputy, ‘n’ if they did then that’s real  _unfortunate_.” 

Pale skin flushes, discomfort sidling up her spine. “Rook.”

His expression oozes skepticism.

“What?”

“That’s  _not_ your name.”

“That’s my  _surname_ ,” she corrects.

His head tilts back, questioning. “D’ you not  _like_ your  _first_ name?”

“You’re full of questions t’night.”

She’s like a perfect cliff-hanger, leaving you constantly _wanting more_. He wets his lips. “ _You’re_ evading.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Jacob nods, jaw tensing.  **Know your enemy** , and all that.  _Not bad_ ,  _Rook_. Then again, what if he just wants to know  _her?_  “Fair enough.”

Rook looks into the bowl. “You said we’re moving out soon. How soon?”

It’s a subject changer and oh boy is he  _grateful_. “Tomorrow, if not soon _er_.”

She pauses, nervous.  _What then_?

“There a problem with that?”

“What? No - I just … Aren’t you worried?”

Jacob’s expression suggests he’s never even heard of the word before. “Worry wastes energy.”

“Yeah, okay, but there’s people  _literally_ eating each other up there. Does that not … freak you out?” The silence that follows, the break in his features has her nearly wheezing her slip of the tongue. “Shit. I - I didn’t _think_. That wasn’t - you’re not -  _do you want a drink_? I need some  _water_ …” Rook stutters, placing the bowl onto her bedding before stumbling for the door.

“ _Sit_ ,” Jacob orders bluntly. “Sit down.”

Rook halts in the doorway, hesitating audibly. “Yeah … I can - I can  _sit_ ,” she mumbles, moving back to the bed.

“ _Here_ ,” he interrupts, pointing to the seat beside him.

The hair on the nape of her neck rises, stomach churning with powerful waves of panic. The way he says it is bordering on  _gentle_ , it has her genuinely scared. Nonetheless, his words travel through the leash she’s desperate to lose and she approaches him, seating herself on the edge of the bed next to him.

There’s still some distance between their forms until Jacob turns to face her shoulder, one leg propped on the bed allowing his knee to graze her thigh and she’s hyper-aware that her hands are trembling. Her gaze burns holes into the ground beneath her feet, heart thrumming, toes clenching in her boots.

“I do not regret the path that I took,” he informs her, voice hoarser than usual. “I was  _tested_ , and I _chose_.” He waits, waits for Rook to look and when she doesn’t he continues. “An’ I’m still alive  _for_ it. Don’t misunderstand me when I say this, ‘cause there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t  _question_ whether I  **should** be. But I have a job t’ do.  _That decision_? Is  **not** mine t’ make.” Another pause. “I’m sure you’ve encountered  _similar_ experiences.”

Rook knows what he means by that, the gravity in his tone silencing any and all potential for mockery. He knows she’s been through  _something_. She’s terrified, not of him, nor his family, but of what’s to come. Terrified by the way she’s comforted by his voice, the safety she feels by his mere presence. Terrified that there’s no longer any reason for her to sleep in his room tonight.

“I think I’m gonna go get some rest …” she grates out.

As she moves to stand, Jacob reaches out, a hand landing lightly on her thigh before it rises, hovering. “ _Rook_.”

“‘s fine, Jacob. Besides, like you said - I need t’ refuel. You’re not _carrying_ me this time.” Then, she returns to her own room, leaving Jacob alone with his thoughts. He glances over to the discarded bowl. It's tipped on its side with the dry contents spilling out, half empty – or half full?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient my dudes I'm trying to keep it so there's multiple chapters written ahead of the one I post so it takes a little longer but yeah. hope you're enjoying this Wild ride


	8. Chapter 8

“Get your shit t’gether, we’re moving out at zero eight hundred hours.” Her bag is dropped at the base of her bed, landing roughly on unseen feet.

Rook squints from beneath her covers, the room’s lighting too bright for tired eyes. “The hell’s in there? Bricks?”

“Your  _missing_ motivation,” Jacob remarks. There’s an energy about him, like he’s left it ‘til the last day to move house. Like he needs to leave the bunker or he’ll lose his mind - if he hasn’t already. 

She can’t contemplate just how he’s so desperate to enter a world they do not know. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he needs to know.

Rook hasn’t managed to contact her friends,  _not managed_  meaning Jacob never showed her and she wasn’t going to start prying, especially with him  _like this_. 

Besides, this is her chance to escape!

Her form doesn’t bleed from the covers, dread deeply rooted around what is presently the outside world. It’s been around a week, maybe less, _maybe more_ , but she can’t bring herself to face  _anymore_ chaos. The cult continues to breathe, albeit not prosper, and that alone is enough cause for concern. Religious lunatics and flesh-eating corpses. Next thing you know, the cult will enslave them and claim God sent them to  _cleanse the sin_.

“ _Up_ , Deputy,” Jacob says sternly, prompting her to cover her head with her blanket. When she doesn’t resurface, he grabs at the bedding and yanks it from her, bundling it up before taking it back to his own room. 

Rook covers her eyes with her palms.  _Great_.  _Now you don’t have a blanket_. She’s grateful she sleeps with clothing on, a deep breath inhaled before she sits up and pulls her bag over. It’s untouched since her last venture, save for the bullets she’d packed - removed and placed elsewhere. Woah - woah … she is getting a gun, right? There’s no way she’s going  _out there_   **unarmed**.

Placing her bag back onto the bed, she rises to her feet and marches into Jacob’s doorway. “I am  _getting_ a gun,  _right_?”

He’s over by his own bed, shoving necessities into his pack. His eyes settle on her, drift down to her bare legs and then back up. It’s morning and he’s already exasperated by her. “Put some damn pants on, Rook.”

She can’t tell if it’s making him uncomfortable, standing so bare in a pair of boxers or whether he wants her to put some damn pants on so they can go. Boxers seems a little  _nonchalant_ , after all, given the circumstances. “What? Can’t handle a little  _leg_ , Jacob?”

“When it’s severed,” he retorts harshly. “Not a  _problem_. Which is exactly what’ll happen if you go out  _there_ looking like  _that_.”

Rook scoffs. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous.”

“Then you  _don’t_ know any better.” He pauses, arching a brow. “Jealous of _what_?”

“The zombies getting a look, of course. What if one decides t’ run off with me while you’re not looking?”

A hand rises, rubbing contorted features because he almost fucking  _laughed_ at that. “You done?”

Rook shrugs, turning to leave before remembering her actual reason for bothering him. “You  _sly_ son of a bitch. You didn’t answer my  _question_.”

_You’re very distracting_. “You’ll get a gun when I give you a gun.”

“When will that be?”

“ _When I give you one_.”

“Since when did you become so cryptic?” She grumbles.

“When you become so  _curious_.”

Rook falls quiet at that, gaze lowering to the ground - however, on the way, she spots the pistol strapped to his thigh. “What happens if I take  _yours_?”

“You wanna find out?”

She hums. “ _Huh_.” Shoulders droop, battle lost for now as she slinks back to her room to change.   Zero eight hundred hours.   She has no idea when that is, how soon or far. The questions would cease, at least out-loud. Stop giving Jacob the insult ammunition. 

He’s probably got her dagger too, somewhere, the same one she used to … on second thought, she’s not sure she wants to hold that weight ever again. 

It doesn’t take much time for her to pack - it’s not like she’d had anything  _un_ packed in the first place. Once she’s finished, she sits on the edge of her bed - heels quietly kicking the frame. This is it. This is her chance to get free and find refuge, preferably among her friends. The second Jacob takes his eyes off her … the moment he’s distracted and she’s  _gone_ \- a bullet in the wind. She can’t keep chasing this delusional fairy tale. Can’t allow these feelings to continue developing.

A laugh slips from parted lips, panic vibrant in her tone. It’s not like anything can  _happen_ with … whatever this is, right? She can’t be close with the enemy. With the cult. With  _Jacob_. She’s been stuck in here for too long, that’s what it is. Too much Jacob and too much time. Her sense of reality is dwindling, once she’s out everything will go back to normal. Everything will be fine. She’ll never have to see Jacob again and that’s  _good_. Isn’t it?

_Then why does she feel so goddamn downcast?_

 

* * *

 

Jacob stands in Rook’s doorway, backpack tightened over his right shoulder, form leaning against the frame. Her head is lowered and he’s certain she hasn’t heard his approach. Safe for a moment, Jacob is silent, drinking in the other’s details. 

Her hair is tied up, a neat tail falling from the back of her head, accentuating her features. Lips are pursed thoughtfully - absentmindedly, figure hunched as she stares at her feet. She’s wearing her camo pants, which of course he approves of, not to mention the way they sit snug against her lean shape. The red flannel she has on seems to draw attention to her face, sharp brows furrowed in concentration and Jacob’s floored. The things he would give just to run a finger across soft skin, down and along her sculpted jaw. To press his lips to her bruised throat and feel the way she trembles beneath him, feel the warmth she emits  _because of him_.

         **She doesn’t want you** ,  ** _she wanted Eli_**.

“Ready t’ go,” Jacob says, not a question but a decisive statement for both of them.  _We’re going_ , wh _ether you like it or not_.

Rook jumps, having been staring at her feet. “Huh? Right. Yeah, I guess.”

Jacob disappears down the hall in seconds, Rook hesitating before following. She’s got no weapons, merely her hands and a moderately heavy backpack as self-defence. Jacob’s with her, but she questions whether he’ll actually assist or  _stand and enjoy_ the scene that unfolds. After all, he doesn’t even want her at Joseph’s bunker. He’d kill her right here, right fucking now if he could.

Rook doesn’t waste his time, however, knowing he’ll get mad if she does. She speed walks to the doors and finds Jacob with them already open, scouting the path ahead. A foreboding sky is dormant above them, dark clouds mottling dawn’s breath, withholding thunder like a crash of rhinos preparing to charge.

“Shit,” she whispers, frowning at how gloomy the surroundings are. If Jacob heard her, he didn’t show it - but by the tension in his expression she guesses he’s thinking the same thing.

They make their way up onto the terrain behind the bunker doors, a few steps out taking them to the water’s edge. “You want us to  _swim_ there?” Joseph’s region, which seems tiny compared to the others, can be made out in the near distance. She’s been trapped in a small space for about a week without much food or exercise … there’s no way she’s got enough energy to swim _that_. Walking was different; there were places to stop and rest, unlike open water swimming. 

The look he gives her is incredulous. “ _What_?”

“The water … we’re not …” it was hardly a stupid question, knowing how disturbed Jacob is. “We’re  _not_ ,” she says nodding, question answered.

Without another word, Jacob turns and heads back to the path leading out of the bunker. It’s the one they decide to take, an open route seeming less dangerous if they have to make a run for it at any point. Rook’s alert for signs, whether that be of life in general or those of her friends. They walk in silence for quite some time, boots crunching over fallen foliage, the island itself not overly popular. She knows they’ve got to get off this island and over to Joseph’s, but Rook’s no stranger to the size of each one. Getting there’s going to take  _some time_.

Jacob has an idea of where he’s going, following the map he must’ve snatched from Dutch’s desk, but Rook’s been here a number of times - most likely more recent than him. The question is, how will he fare being led by a woman.

“Want me to take lead?” She asks.

A brow arches, eyes forward. “No.”

“I’m just  _saying_ Jacob … I know this island  _pretty_ well.”

“Good f’r you.”

“Jacob.”

“I said  _no_ , Deputy,” he growls. Granted, he had brought her here in the first place, but Rook was just as capable.

“Why  _not_? Give me one good reason. Is it ‘cause I’m not some burly  _dude_?”

Jacob snorts.

“ _Is_ it?”

“ **No**. I don’t doubt you can fuckin’  _handle yourself_ , Dep.”

“Then  _what’s the problem_?”

He turns on her, form looming. “This is  **my** mission, Rook.  _Mine_.  **I**  take you t’ Joseph.  **I**  secure and protect,  **I**  take the goddamn lead.”     _I keep you safe_. Then, he’s walking again.

Rook remains where she stands for a moment, watching the distance develop.  _This is my mission_. After all this, he still thinks he’s the sacrifice. The soldier. She follows, maintaining the distance but not letting it increase. She notices how Jacob dips his head every so often, checking she’s following in his peripheral vision. Her lips tighten thoughtfully, what would happen if he were to look and find her gone? Would he celebrate? Would he hunt her down? Would he carry on and claim she was eaten by wolves? The uncertainty keeps her from fleeing, that and the gnawing need for a presence - comforting or not.

_It’s the brainwashing_ , she tells herself.  _You’re nothing more than an expendable pet_.     Is that excuse to replace the  _fresh air_  one after it proved useless?

She kicks a pebble, sending it tumbling along the path and Jacob turns to look at her. “That wasn’t at _you_ ,” she assures. His glower says, ‘you start throwing pebbles and I’ll start throwing boulders.’ A construction in the distance distracts her, thankfully, a finger lifting to point in its direction. “Should we stop and check for supplies?”

Jacob slows to a halt, following her point. His shoulders seem tense, then again, when weren’t they? The image of his figure falling lax beneath her touch haunts her. “Might not be safe,” he says.

“Scared?” She taunts him.

“Naivety gets you  _killed_ , Deputy. Would’a thought you’d figured that out by now.”

He’s not wrong, and that shuts her up. There’s a sense of worry that streams from him like a busy river. But why? In fact, since she woke up he’s seemed somewhat  _highly strung_. “Let’s check it out,” she brushes his words off, moving hesitantly to his side. The closer they get, the stronger the smell of death gets too. “What  _is_ that?”

Jacob unsheathes his dagger, gesturing for Rook to stay at the bottom of the steps. “How this goes depends entirely on your behaviour. Don’t disappoint me,” he warns before advancing toward the door. 

Rook stays, scowling at the back of his head and if looks could kill … She pats at her pants, forgetting she’s unarmed and balls her fists when she finds nothing. “ _Asshole_.” Her train of hateful thought soon collapses, however, when Jacob vanishes into the tower and out of sight.  _Far from out of mind_. 

There’s an audible scuffle, feet clunking against wooden floorboards, something breakable crashing to the ground, a shout following by a blood-curdling snarl. “Shit,” Rook mutters, fingers rubbing against each other nervously. “Jacob?” She calls up the steps - no response. 

She makes her way up,  _what the fuck are you doing_? on repeat in her head as she nears the doorway. There’s a faint gurgling, muffled by the room’s walls. As she turns the corner, she comes face to face with the tower’s carer - except he’s missing chunks of his face and his intestines are spilling out onto the floor. His skin is a sickly green colour, eyes glazed over and white … just like Dutch. 

Before Rook has time to react, Jacob reappears, blade plunging into the side of the corpse’s head. Blood spatters across her cheek and she scrambles backwards into the railing keeping her from falling. Disgust swells like scrunched up paper in her stomach, a panicked whimper leaving her as she wipes away the blood. There’s no telling how this … thing spreads. There’s no telling if it  _does_ spread. She hopes to the highest heavens that Dr Lindsey or Sarah are  _alive_. Hopes they’ve already figured  _something_ out.

Rook comes back from her daze, focus gradually returning to see the zombie’s body limp at Jacob’s feet as he cleans his dagger on the clothing at the zombie’s hip. He glances to her. “Naivety gets you killed,” he repeats firmly, moving back in to search the room.

She feels helpless … useless. She needs to toughen up, get a goddamn grip if she’s going to survive this. Perhaps it’s the ever-growing question of whether she _wants_ to that’s stopping her. 

Jacob doesn’t find much, an extra med-kit but it’s half empty. The  _thing_ near her feet probably tried to save himself before  _it_ took over. Nonetheless, it’s stuffed into his pack and they continue their trek in silence. Rook subtly points out the boulders they can climb down, leading to another path.

Time passes while they walk, the quiet  _frightening_ , amplifying every noise - at least to her. She can see discomfort in the way Jacob walks, the pain in his shoulder a probable cause. There’s no point asking if he’s okay, knowing he’ll turn her away with a harsh hand. “We can rest  _whenever_ you wanna,” she informs. It’s  _not_ concern, definitely not concern that’s in her tone.  _Why would she be concerned_?

“No time t’ stop,” he says gruffly. But he doesn’t deny that he wants to.

“Well we’re nearly at the ranger station anyway. Might not have a choice.” A beat passes. “Hey, Jacob?”

“Mm?”

“What are we …  _you_ g'nna do if there’s people there? Resistance …”

Jacob remains quiet, brows furrowed and lips stretching to cover gritted teeth. She knows that look, has seen it a number of times before. It’s the look he had when he told her  _it’s his mission_.

“You  **know** I can’t let you kill them.”

“Sounds like we’re gunna have some fun then, Deputy.”

She bites her lower lip, fingers scratching at the base of her neck. “There’s gotta be another way? You can’t kill everyone you don’t get along with, Jacob.”

“That’s  _ironic_ , coming from you.”

“ _You’re_ still breathing. Besides, I didn’t have a goddamn choice with that. It was me or them.”

He stops again, turning to face her, forearms crossing over his bulky chest as he closes himself off from her. “Ouch. And I thought things were goin’ swell. What’s stopping me from making up the same  _bullshit_ , hm?”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

His tone is mocking. “I didn’t have a choice.  _It was me or them_.” He watches her, closing the gap between them to inches. “It’s ‘cause I don’t make  _excuses_ , Rook. I have accepted my task. Who I am, the things I  _do_. One day, you’ll follow. Quit this fucking guilt tripping shit. Your pride is in the wrong place. It’s in the things that make you weak.” His breath is scorching on her cheeks, gaze scanning chapped lips. She could be  _so much_ , in the right hands. With the right guidance.  _With him_.

Rook doesn’t dare speak, wholly aware that her voice will give her away. She nods at him, using all her willpower not to gulp when his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Their attention is scattered at the sound of another gurgled scream, however, turning sharply to see a zombie approaching. Jacob looks distracted, distant for he doesn’t move  _immediately_. After a few moments, he steps forward, taking his blade and ramming it up into the dead’s jaw. 

There’s a horrible squelch as he twists and removes the dagger. “ _Fuck_ ,” she hears him hiss under his breath.

She’s going to need a fan or an ice pack or _something_ if that’s going to keep happening. She runs a hand over her hair, desperate for the heat in her stomach to vanish as quickly as it appeared. It’s the loneliness of it all,  _that’s_ the problem. 

_It’s ‘cause I don’t make excuses_.

  _Shut up_ , she thinks, Jacob’s voice resonating through her skull.  _Shut up_ ,  _goddammit_.

“Station is over there. See it? The cabins?” Rook slices through the tension.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he acknowledges, trudging on.

There’s no one in sight, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty. People could be hiding, waiting to ambush.  _God she hopes not_. No one else needs to die, especially not the Resistance. They may not care about her, but they’re all that’s left to fight back against the cult. 

They make their way into the grounds, Jacob gesturing for her to follow him to the side of the main cabin. She does, back pressing to the wall as she waits for further instructions. “I’ve got your back,” is whispered to him and Jacob visibly pauses before rounding the corner. 

Step by step, eventually they make it inside. It’s been abandoned, furniture stacked and used as a barricade. Some of the windows are boarded up, blood spattering the odd floorboard and Rook’s stomach churns when she spots a body in the back room. Jacob’s distracted with something behind her, and she doesn’t  _need_ him anyway, so she approaches alone. 

The corpse is alive, its legs missing, a trail of crimson following it to its seat. Once it sees Rook, its jaws start to snap as it lunges onto its chest and begins crawling towards her. A mangled hand manages to grip her ankle and trip her, sending her onto her back. 

A broken Cheeseburger bobblehead drones on in the background from the shelf beside her and Rook acts swiftly, shuffling back and grabbing it before bringing it down onto the zombie’s head. When it continues to move, she does it again, and again, until the contents of its head are spilling out onto the floor, leaving her gasping for breath. Those things were worse than the angels! At least **they** wore  _mouth_ covers.

“Think y’ killed it,” Jacob’s voice has her acting on instinct, a leg kicking out - sending him rocketing to the ground beside her.

“Get the fuck  _away_ from -” mid-cry, Rook freezes when she sees who it is. “ _Fuck_. I didn’t -  ** _you snuck up on me_**!” She defends, rubbing at her leg because was the guy a goddamn  _tree_?

Jacob looks pleasantly surprised, and by that he looks like he’s going to kill her. Although there’s a softness to his gaze … and if she didn’t know any better she’d say it was fondness. But she’s hyped up on adrenaline,  _what does she know_? “Shit Dep, f’r a second there thought I was gonna end up like that guy,” he nods to the legless figure at her feet. 

“You snuck up on me,” she repeats.

“Wasn’t my intention,” Jacob shrugs, rising back to his feet with a deep grunt. “ _Goddamn_.”

Rook bites her lip, an apology trying to bleed from them but he doesn’t deserve one. She handled herself  _fine_ then, which he seems to acknowledge as instead of yanking her up by the scruff like a pup he offers a hand, albeit hesitant. She, however, doesn’t hesitate which speaks volumes of strangled conflict within Jacob’s features. Her hand meets his own and she stands, readjusting her pack straps. “Shall we keep going?” It’s not really a question, but a levelling of power because she saunters off into the open - taking lead and Jacob can’t help but stare in a way he refuses to further think about. That woman will be the death of him,  _one way or another_.

Hushed, he goes after her, moving to her side as they make their way out of the ranger station and further down the path. They don’t speak about what happened back at the cabin, and though his respect for Rook is seemingly ever growing he knew what he was up against from the very beginning. It’s exactly why he wanted her to be his soldier. There was something about breaking someone strong, making them believe _you_ made them that way.

“It’s getting dark,” Rook observes, breaking Jacob from his thoughts.  _Probably for the best_. “It’ll be cold soon.”

“You asking f’r my jacket, Deputy?”

Rook’s brows drop into a scowl, scoffing. “I’m  _saying_ it’s probably not smart t’ be walking in the dark. We should consider stopping somewhere.”

Jacob appears to be contemplating her words, for once, gaze averting to the distance. She’s not wrong. It’s probably going to be dark before they reach Joseph’s bunker, and it’s not the zombies they need to be worried about by then. That, and they’ve got to pass through Faith’s region.  _Fuck fighting Angels in the dark_ , he thinks. “S’posed t’ be a cabin somewhere nearby. Should be able t’ get there before dark.”

“Alright,” Rook agrees, adjusting the straps on her pack. “What’s it called?”

“What?”

“The cabin. Who does it belong to?”

“How should I fuckin’ know?”

Rook forgets that not everyone’s as well-informed about names and locations as she is. After all, Jacob spent his time in the Whitetail region. Why would he bother learning about Faith’s? “Where is it on the map?” No point chasing the aggression in his tone. Jacob scowls at her, holding out the map. He points to a place near Silver Lake bridge, and Rook squints. “Vasquez Residence,” she notes.

He can’t say he’s not impressed, although it’s kept wholly to himself. “Not gunna ask,” he states, turning to continue onwards.

“I’m sure you could name anywhere in the mountains, right?”

“Of course.”

“So why is it surprising someone else can with somewhere else?”

“It’s not.”

“But –”

“You wanna get there before dark, right Dep?” Jacob grunts. “Then less talk, more walk.” It’s terrifying, really, just how capable she is. Something about it makes his palms sweat. In the right hands, she could be perfect. A fearless warrior. He imagines her without the instinct of flight, imagines her closing in on him, baring teeth and standing her ground. Skin against skin, neither backing down and –

            Rook must’ve come to a halt, as he slams straight into her. “What in –” he begins, but Rook cuts him off with a wave of her hand. His feet are submerged within the shallow river they’re crossing, leading to the Henbane but it takes longer than he’s comfortable admitting to notice what she has.

“Careful,” she says, pointing to a green mist. It rolls across the ground like a thick fog, spewing from a discarded container.

It doesn’t affect him, the way it does with most – due to his regular exposure to it. He’s built up a resistance, and although it’s no way near as compact as Faith’s, a little cloud of it won’t harm him. However, he understands the deputy’s concern. He doesn’t need her talking even _more_ shit. He deems it probably best to keep that information classified, too. At least for the time being. Jacob gives a hum of acknowledgement as they begin finding a way around it, bringing them to a road.

“Should be a left, here,” Jacob states.

“Wait – _wait_!” Rook urges, a hand reaching out to pat at his bicep.

“The hell now?”

“I _hear_ something,” she whispers.

Were she not right, he would say something like ‘ _that’s **you**_.’ But there’s clearly something gurgling among the trees that has Jacob reaching for his pistol, burning stare directed to the shadows in time to see a zombie stumbling onto the path.

Rook notices there’s a silencer attached to Jacob’s gun and she bites her cheek. He must’ve snatched it from Dutch’s bunker. It’s fired once, followed by a dull thud as the bullet enters the rotting forehead before it collapses to the floor. “D’you think that’s it?” She asks, glancing around. The darker it gets, the more every damn shadow looks like something coming for them. Although she’s not overly opposed to fighting, it’s the fact that she’s got no weapons that has her nervous. Nothing to protect herself with and it’s a desperate hope that Jacob won’t just stand and watch if one attacks her. She spins at the sound of another suffocated shot – a second zombie falling to the dirt. She hadn’t even _heard_ that one.

_Please let that be it_.

As if fate had heard her very thoughts, a gut-wrenching cry bursts out from the foliage, followed by more snarling and choking. Several forms step into the dying light, a group of angels missing chunks of flesh and Rook feels her knees threaten to buckle beneath her. “Shit!”

Jacob takes a step back, closer to Rook, grip tightening on his pistol as he counts heads – half of one missing leaving gnashing jaws behind a white mask. “ _Fuck_ ,” he grimaces. More so at the idea of ending up like that, rather than the sight itself. The thought of Rook ending up like that has him tensing, unable to look at her. _He’s not going to let that happen_.

“Could really use a fucking weapon _right now_ , Jacob,” Rook urges, fists clenching helplessly.

The panic in her tone unravels a whole sea of emotions that threaten to drag him under. “I’ve _got_ this,” he reassures, stepping up to the approaching zombies. A shot is fired, followed by another and although his aim is one of a kind, that doesn’t stop more from appearing.

“Are you trying to _prove_ something?” Rook is incredulous. “ _Right now_?” Jacob starts taking them on, one on one and Rook stands uselessly among the crowd of dead surrounding her. Jacob’s so consumed by whatever is going on in his head that’s she’s going to die if she doesn’t arm herself somehow. “Fuck!” She hisses, lunging away from a mangled hand reaching out for her.

Jacob hears her shout and turns to see the commotion. _He’s not got this_. There’s too many of them. Gritting his teeth, he calls out to her, unsheathing his knife and holding it in her direction.

Rook sees the dagger, biting back the desire to gawp in surprise at Jacob and instead snatches it from him and starts fighting back. She plunges the blade into skull after skull, deaf to Jacob’s suffocated gunfire as they handle themselves like a team and she loses herself in it. The way their shoulders bump every couple of moments, subtly ensuring they’re both still there and alive. Once or twice, they cross over, Jacob taking out a couple of Rook’s and vice versa. Jacob’s peripheral vision focusses solely on her, the way she moves, the power behind each hit, the way tightened lips stifle every grunt and shout. The way discoloured crimson spatters fair skin and sweat dribbles down sculpted features and ... “Jacob, behind you!”

           It’s too late. The zombie tackles him with deadweight force, jaws crashing together like a rabid dog and he feels his stitches tear, the way tender skin catches and the scorching flow of blood are left behind as adrenaline takes over, hands clutching at hair and twisting swiftly so the body is beneath him – hesitation unheard of as his thumbs plunge deep into the creature’s eye sockets and dig around until movement ceases.

There’s a look on Jacob’s face, something feral she’s not seen before. Rook feels her stomach surge and acid burns the back of her throat as she strains to maintain composure and turns away from the sight. The sound alone is enough to make her dizzy, her body lowering to the floor to rest for a moment.

It’s not long before Jacob’s back on his feet, gravelly tone rumbling on but she can’t quite process his words. He nudges her shoulder. “Let’s keep moving.”

“A-Alright ...” she utters, clambering to her feet, holding Jacob’s knife tightly. Who knows when he’s planning to do that to _her_. “Shit. Yeah. Okay. Fuck.”

Jacob’s a few steps ahead of her but his hearing is sharp for every breath she takes. It’s as though every nerve is on fire, every sense hypersensitive and if the urge to hold her _tight_ wasn’t strong before then it was fucking overwhelming now. The way she stutters, every nervous sniffle and swish of clothing against skin ... Desperate for the friction, crackling electricity sparking from his skin, the memory of her touch devouring him whole. The way delicate palms drifted up his scarred torso, teasing him, trickling down lower and lower like rain upon a window.

“Jacob?”

It’s at the sound of Rook’s voice that he notices he’s stopped, unaware of how ragged and heavy his breathing is.

“Shit, Jacob. Your stitches!” Rook sees the stain of crimson on his shoulder, contrasting against the now-rusty colour of the previous stain. “Did that just happen?”

Jacob mutters incoherently, mostly because he’s so overstimulated he feels light-headed. That, and the blood loss.

“I can’t fix this shit out here. We’ve gotta get t’ that cabin. Come on,” she moves to wrap an arm around him, to help him walk but he yanks away from her like a touch-starved dog.

“Can walk,” he huffs. “I can. Fuckin’ get there myself.”

“Then fucking walk,” Rook snaps and dread gnaws at her ankles at the concern in her tone. Jacob picks up on it too, judging by the way he seems to seize up for a split second before he begins moving.

She has no idea how much time passes, tens of minutes most likely, the majority of it spent scouting ahead while worryingly casting her gaze back to Jacob. What if he collapses? What the fuck is she supposed to do _then_? Although it’s not like he’s struggling, and Rook wouldn’t be so concerned were it not for the fact that there’s a possibility the wound is infected. Wait – _concerned_?

At some point, she’d snatched the map from him – after he’d refused to accept he was no longer fit to lead. Rook knows it’s not the injury that’s done it. It’s a deep wound and he’s lost a consequential amount of blood, the reopening most likely having only torn it more. She won’t know until she has a good look, which will undoubtedly be as difficult as the last time. But the change she’d seen in Jacob, the _animosity_ that had overcome him with that final zombie ... It had frightened her. Touching nothing more than the _base_ of what this man is capable. She can’t imagine the memories conflict brings back for him.

“You good?” Rook calls out.

“ _Just peachy_.”

They’re almost there. Rook halts, coming to a bend in the road. They can either waste time staying in the open or risk it and cut through the trees. Jacob’s life depended on it. If that wound got infected, if it wasn’t already, it would make shit a whole lot more complicated. “This way,” she says, pretending she knows what she’s doing. Jacob’s probably doubting the vague uncertainty in her tone but he doesn’t question it, which she’s grateful for.

The route leads them through the trees and back out into a clearing, beside a small dock. There’s no supplies visible, and Rook doesn’t want to waste time. Continuing on, she leads him up a hill that brings the cabin into view. Fucking finally, she thinks. “Here we are. C’mon, through the door.”

Jacob snorts at her, visibly trembling as he steps through the doorway and out of sight. Rook glances at the surroundings, checking no one’s following before entering. She finds Jacob seated on the couch in the living area. He’s hunched over, looking doubly exhausted and for a beat she hears Tammy’s voice in her head.

_You find Jacob_ , _and you kill him_. _Or next time I see you_ , _so help me God_ … _I’ll kill you **myself**_.

Fingers tighten around the dagger. She could end it all, right here. One blow to the skull and that’s it. Watch him sputter and choke and convulse on the floor, blood spilling out before her boots. Kill him with his own weapon. _The weapon he’d entrusted her with_.

“You gunna do it?” He speaks up, startling her from her thoughts. He must’ve read her mind, icy stare redirected from the floor to her face. “Take the kill? Gunna end it? I think we’d both agree you’ve earned it. C’mon. _Take it_.”

Rook’s impulsive. There’s no consideration of consequences in the moment. It’s blatantly obvious, to her, that she can’t kill Jacob. But were you to ask for her reasoning, she wouldn’t be able to give one. A part of her anticipates something smug from Jacob, an expression that tells her he’s got the upper hand and that he knows it. However, she finds _herself_ with that expression when Jacob reacts with nothing more than sheer surprise at her words. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” He rasps.

“Your shirt. Take it off. I need t’ see the wound.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter this time! I'm nervous about what you guys will think about the oncoming chapters tbh but one at a time.


	9. Chapter 9

“Your shirt. Take it off. I need t’ see the wound.”

Cerulean hues stare for a moment, like he’s trying to comprehend her motives before he slowly shrugs off camouflage cover, followed by his t-shirt. After numerous winces, he’s left topless in the bitter air. It’s darker outside now, pitch black threatening to pool in through the windows so Rook moves to flick the light switch. One bulb flickers but the others instantly brighten up the room, although Rook picks up on the way Jacob appears to sink further into his seat.

It’s better this time, no alcohol massaging its way into her method. Her jaw tightens as she searches his backpack for a medkit, placing it onto the table to look through its contents. She places what she thinks she’ll need in a line, before turning back to Jacob. It needs to be looked at first, and that’s exactly what she intends to do – the knife she’d been holding discarded on the table. “Left side?” She checks. With a nod from the other, she approaches and seats herself beside him.

His form is turned for her to get a better angle. The lack of disgruntled rejection was nice, Rook having been expecting more of a fight. _He must be sore_. Shifting, she adjusts his shoulders to allow the light to hit the injury. Blood oozes down mottled skin and onto the leather couch beneath him. There’s some trauma to the surrounding skin, grazing here and there. The wound itself has been torn, stretching a little longer this time and the redness of the skin suggests it’s close to if not just beginning to get infected.  It’s a nasty gash, one that causes guilt to swell in her chest because he wouldn’t have it were it not for her.

         _Why do you feel bad about that?_

Sighing, she collects the necessary equipment and returns, placing them in her lap. Just as she had back at the bunker, she administers the rubbing alcohol, biting her lip at the hiss that leaves Jacob. It’s not _her_ place, so she doesn’t concern herself with the mess it makes. Following that, she cleans and proceeds to stitch the wound, going as carefully as she can. They’re both silent, save for the occasional pained sound that slips past Jacob’s sealed lips. Once the wound is stitched, Rook dresses it, leaving Jacob to put his clothes back on as she clears up. It’s all she’s able to do, for now.

Placing the kit back into his bag, Rook begins searching the cabin. She finds cans of food which she decides they’ll eat tonight, locating a pot before igniting the gas on the cooker. The quiet continues as she cooks, her gaze not daring to stray from Heinz’s finest bubbling away. At one point, she feels him _watching_ her, heartbeat picking up nervously, palm sweating against the wooden spoon she’s stirring with.

    It feels like several hours have passed when the beans are finally cooked. Rook tips half into two bowls before handing one, and a spoon, to Jacob. She doesn’t say a word and retreats to the table, facing in his direction but her head dipped to avoid his arched brow. There’s nothing for her to say. Nothing to talk about.

                                       That’s not true in the slightest but it’s what she repeats to herself. Her spoon pokes and prods at steaming ovals but she doesn’t eat them – lost in thought. The image of Jacob’s fingers embedded into the eye sockets of that zombie a _reoccurring_ one. The way he’d looked at her when she took the knife from his grasp.

“Awfully quiet, Dep,” Jacob’s voice shatters the glass bubble she’s trying to hide within.

Rook glances to him and then back to her food. “Mhm.”

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“No.”

A pause. Jacob’s skepticism doesn’t need to be seen to be _felt_. “You gunna eat those?”

“Probably not.”

His brows furrow. “Need your energy, Dep.”

Rook merely shrugs in response.

Damn, she’s making conversation fucking _difficult_ tonight. _Why are you even bothering?_ “A _spoonful_ ,” he challenges. She looks at him, squinting for a moment before exhaling heavily. Exactly that is raised to her lips, chewed and swallowed. “C’mon Dep, just fuckin’ eat it. Y’ think I want you _collapsing_ half way t’morrow?”

“Think I give a shit about what _you_ want?” She counters, glaring.

Jacob’s jaw clenches, teeth gritting. “Seeing as _I’m_ keeping you alive, I’d say so.”

“You can barely keep yourself alive, asshole!” Rook spits. “That’s the _second_ time I’ve pretty much saved your fucking life!”

He doesn’t know how it escalates to this. From zero to one hundred in a burst of seconds, they are both as furious in different ways, meeting to form one monstrous bonfire of repressed rage. Intelligence is discarded as he picks up the nearby remote and throws it in her direction, narrowly missing her and hitting the wall behind instead.

Rook’s brows rise high, shock seeping into her bones as she stares at him. _Did he just throw a fucking remote at you?_   She’s tired of the trembling. Of the fear consuming her. Tired of his temper tantrums and tired of the way her heart throbs with disappointment every time he spits venom at her. Exhausted by the _tension_ she’s tricked herself into believing is there. Rook stands, shaking with anger as she reaches for the bowl of plastic fruit on the table. One after the other, she launches them at him. “I didn’t ask ... for any ... of this _shit_ ... and **you** ... are just ... fucking _insufferable_ ... I’m fucking ... _sick_ of it ... **fuck** ... _you_!” She bellows, pausing between each throw. Her gaze falls upon the knife abandoned on the table. As she lifts it, Jacob rises, storming towards her. The look in his eyes is dangerous, deadly and she points the blade in his direction. “I hate you!” She snarls, swiping at him.

It’s a swift hit, too, for she catches skin, a small slice appearing on his forearm as he grips her wrists – vice-like. For a moment, Rook’s certain she’s dug her grave there and then. That Jacob’s going to reach up and snap her neck like a goddamn twig.

But that doesn’t happen. He stands, watching her for a moment as though he’s debating it. She can feel the heat radiating from him, his touch scorching tender wrists. Something drips from his arm and onto her own, trickling down pale flesh. Her lips tremble, working to whisper his name but he catches them with his own, crashing together in a violent kiss, pressing into her like she’s the cliff edge that leads to either life or death. His eyes shut tight while Rook’s are wide, her body freezing in place. Her hands quake, knife hitting wooden floorboards with a thud. One of Jacob’s own releases its grip and curves around her waist, pulling her closer. _Not close enough_. It’s as though the endless hours he’d spent with her all came thundering down upon him in one giant wave.

Lips part, just long enough for him to ground out, “tell me t’ _stop_ ,” before he’s kissing her again, sloppier this time like it’s the last kiss he’s ever going to get.

Rook’s been pulled beneath the wave and is being drowned by it, unable to keep hands from clutching at the front of his jacket, leaning into his needy touch. There’s a sense of urgency in the kiss and for a moment she thinks she’s dreaming but the reality of it all soon washes over her. Legs threaten to give out beneath her and Jacob seems to notice as he walks her towards the wall beside the fireplace.

He breaks the kiss again, lips lingering, drifting down to nip at her jaw as he breathes against soft skin. “Tell me you don’t _want_ me, Rook. Tell me you want **_Eli_**. Tell me t’ **_stop_**.” It seems Jacob can’t believe what’s happening _himself_ , and Rook can see in his expression he’s wholeheartedly expecting her to kick him away. To shame him. But she only kisses back with just as much force, hands grasping anywhere and everywhere.

She doesn’t know what she wants, can’t even begin to comprehend the situation at hand but if there’s one thing she needs, it’s this. Consequences be damned, it’s been kept at bay until this moment, Jacob’s touch unleashing a hunger within her she didn’t know existed. She’s not been touched like this ... kissed like this since ... “ ** _Don’t_** _stop_ ,” she demands through bared teeth and Jacob unabashedly _keens_ into her mouth.

His hands grip at her thighs, lifting her against him and she wraps her legs around his waist, grunting when she’s pushed into the wall. “Jacob,” she breathes, muffled by the depth of the kiss. The contact softens for a beat as he listens. “ _Can’t_ ... not yet ... I ...” she doesn’t have to finish her sentence for him to understand.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles, pulling back to press their foreheads together – admiring her features up close. _God how he’s craved this_.   
He couldn’t, anyway, though that was discussion for another time. Perhaps Rook could change his circumstances, not that such seemed likely. It didn’t matter. Pain surged in his shoulder, causing him to lower her back to her feet but his frame kept her pinned nonetheless. The friction has her breathless, lips on a gentle tangent across his jaw and down to his throat – teeth grazing over his jugular. He bites his lip at the contact, shaky breath hot against her skin as she brushes her chin against his facial hair – thighs tingling at the wiry texture. _Another time_.

Rook’s conscience is glaring daggers from the other side of the room but she ignores it, letting out a whine as Jacob captures her lips again, sucking the lower between his teeth before drawing her in deeper, tongue exploring every goddamn inch of her mouth.

Above all, she can’t believe Jacob’s wanted this. Just as she has. And she’s not disappointed.

After what feels like hours, most likely no more than half of one, passes – they stand weakly, chests heaving for air. Their gazes are locked onto one another’s, hearts thrumming and everything feels perfect. Like it’s all she’s ever wanted, needed. Rook gives a warm smile, something Jacob hasn’t seen before and he relishes in it.

“You really think I’m insufferable?” He rumbles.

Caught off-guard, Rook bows her head to hide the way she _feels_ herself flush. “When you _wanna_ be.”

He does his very best to ignore the weight in his chest over the fact that she didn’t deny wanting Eli or not wanting him. He needs to hear it, but even then, he wonders if he’ll believe it.

Rook yawns, tiredness leaking into her eyes and Jacob wonders if he could fall any harder. It’s impossible to deny the throbbing question of what the fuck happens after this? Would his brothers accept the way he feels? Did Rook even feel the same way? Or would she wake up tomorrow claiming it happened _in the moment_ and didn’t mean anything? Not to mention how she would react if she found out he couldn’t ... give her what most guys could. He hadn’t even been able to give _himself_ that, for some time.

Rook’s breathing draws him from his thoughts. She looks angelically exhausted, if there’s such a thing. Straining against the pain, Jacob scoops her up and carries her to the closest door, nudging it open in hopes it’s a bedroom and thankfully, it is.

The bed itself isn’t big, and the look that passes over Rook’s features shows she’s hesitant. “ _You_ sleep on it,” she says. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Jacob arches a brow. “Somethin’ wrong with sleeping in the same bed?”

Rook stutters. “Oh! I didn’t – didn’t think about that. Didn’t wanna assume ...”

“Assume away,” he hums, arms wrapping around her waist as he lowers his head to press his lips to her neck, peppering her with kisses.

It’s all so sudden, one extreme to another and Rook’s gradually becoming more and more aware of what she’s gotten herself into. However, she’s more aware of the warmth seeping in through her t-shirt. “Your arm!” She grunts, pulling away from his grip. He blinks, lazily glancing down to the wound on his forearm, disguised by those he’d made himself.

“Shit,” he says bluntly. It’s not bad, to him at least. Nothing a bandage can’t fix. It doesn’t need stitches, that’s for sure.

_You find Jacob_ , _and you kill him_. _Or next time I see you_ , _so help me God_ … _I’ll kill you **myself**_.

Yeah, she’s definitely in the shit.

However, she can’t deny the heat that pools in her stomach with each touch and caress his blood-stained hands deliver. That reminds her. “There’s a bandage in that aid kit. You need t’ wash that shit off before bed too.”

“What shit?”

Rook points to his hands. “ _This_ shit. We don’t know how it spreads, remember?”

Jacob’s expression falters. It would seem, for a second, he too had forgotten there was a world outside of this bliss. Without another word, he exits the room.

With prying eyes gone, Rook wastes no time clambering beneath soft covers. She stares at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. What the hell was she thinking? _Kissing_ Jacob Seed. No, she hadn’t started it, but she’d kissed _back_. That was even worse!  
A hand flattens against facial features and a grumble leaves her. It had been years since she’d experienced anything like that. The intensity of it all swept her up into the storm and engulfed her whole. Life couldn’t possibly go on like this. She couldn’t help the cult. Not after everything they’ve done. And she couldn’t kill Jacob’s siblings without him never talking to her again. There were really only two options. Join the cult and stay with Jacob or kill the seeds and never see Jacob again – or worse, kill him too. Rook frowns to herself. What happened to running away from him as fast as she can the second an opportunity arises?

She’s broken from her thoughts by movement in the room. Her gaze shifts, relieved to see Jacob and not a walking corpse – although they hold their similarities. She notices his wrist is now wrapped with a bandage. Quietly, he slips beneath the covers beside her, their forms barely touching. Rook can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough. Neither know what to say, silence forming like static between them. That is, until Rook notices Jacob’s shivering. It’s a dull shake, like he’s fighting it, jaw tense and gaze averted.

“You cold?” She asks, cutting through the discomfort.

“No.”

Yet, he continues to jitter. She can’t say she’s surprised after the blood he’s lost. That, and probably his damp clothes in the night air with a side of potential infection. It’s strange to think someone like Jacob needs time to heal. She forgets he’s not as invincible as he makes himself out to be. The shivering continues, which is what leads to Rook wrapping her arms around his chest.

The look he gives her is flooded with confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You’re _cold_ ,” she states this time. “I’m trying t’ warm you up.”

He continues staring for a few beats, lips parting and closing as he tries to formulate his words. She remembers the way her touch affected him, back at the bunker and wonders if it’s having the same effect.

Rook waits patiently, noting that he’s still struggling with his words before he reaches out for one of her hands and brings it to the hem of his crimson-spattered t-shirt. She looks at him, questioning his thought process. Jacob studies her expression as her hand slowly disappears and is placed on his chest. A shaky exhale leaves him, abs contracting the way they had done last time.

She understands that, whatever he’s trying to accomplish, he needs some time. Therefore, she waits patiently.   
When all he can give is a nod, Rook tries moving her unseen hand, allowing it to hover over scars, fingertips tracing and ghosting across and down his torso. The hushed sounds that bleed from him suggest she’s doing what he wants, stroking through the burning forest of curls thinly spread across his chest and down over the smooth skin of his abdomen. “Fuck,” Jacob manages, his gaze locked with her own the entire time.

“How long has it been, Jacob?” Rook asks, tone husky. “Since someone _touched_ you like this.”

“ _Long_ ... time,” his breath hitches, brows dipping into a vague frown. “Shit.”

“It feel good?”

He gives a lengthy hum deep enough that Rook's certain it's criminal. “So good. **You** ... _your_ touch ...” He bites at his lower lip. “ _Only you_.”

Rook can’t help the way her skin tingles at his words.

She’s in his head and he can’t get her out. He’s dug himself into his own purgatory and God does he want to _stay_. Rook leans in and presses swollen lips to his jaw, trailing them down to his ear where she whispers. “Kiss me.” And in the blink of one’s eye he does, reaching beneath his shirt to clutch at her hand, drawing it up to linger above his heart and it’s true. It’s there, steadily beating.

At least two weeks ago she’d believed he didn’t have one.

The kiss breaks, and that’s how they stay, limbs tangled and lips brushing. She would figure this shit show out later. Why not thrive for once in her life, like a delicate angel, in the arms of Jacob Seed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only going to get more tense from here but they finally done did it! Also, I decided to sort my tumblr out in case anyone's interested in following me there. I'll eventually post the fic there along with other stuff although it'll be very low activity but if you're interested, it's 'fsociiety' <3 Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get really quite saucy.

When he wakes, he finds himself splayed out upon a thin pane of glass. He’s unable to move, limbs rooted to the surface. It feels as though he’s looking in through a window, for beneath him, he can hear voices. Further observation reveals three figures – shadows to be precise. One looms much taller than the other two, something dangling like a snake from it’s grip.

In the blink of an eye, the snake lunges, delivering a vicious bite to one of the little shadows. That’s when he hears a scream, a sound so brittle it could only come from a child. He hears his name, cried out in an echo but the sharpness of it has him flinching as though it’s right beside his ear. Another bite, and he hears his name again – sobbed, this time. The second little shadow had been quiet until this point, when the tallest shadow grasped it by the top of the head and threw it to the floor. Several snake bites were served to this shadow as it writhed against the ground.

Suddenly, Jacob’s no older then fifteen, his flimsy teenage body jittering against the glass he’s lying upon. His eyes grow wide as the room clears, a dark fog vanishing, leaving his father and brothers in view. Jacob yells, straining against the force that paralyses him as he watches helplessly.

The snake turns into a belt, blood spattering the floor where tiny John lays. Joseph watches, tears streaming as he howls for his oldest brother. _Jacob, where were you? Where were you when we needed you?_ **I’m here!** He tries to shout back, fists clenching as he desperately fights to beat the glass with all his might but can’t. **I can’t get to you!** His father turns on Joseph, bellows for him to cease his pleading as he brings the belt to swelling skin _again_.

Jacob feels the rawness of his throat as he screams, the sound dissipating the second it leaves icy cold lips. The reality that they can’t see or hear him comes crashing down like a deadly wave. He’s _useless_. Then, the glass beneath him shatters with a deafening smash, sending his body falling like a ragdoll. Everything beneath him disappears except for a landscape of ice stretching as far as his eyes can see. He collides with it, the ice cracking and sending him deep into the depths of freezing water.

Jacob struggles violently, trying to swim up for air and warmth but something’s dragging him down. He glances at his ankle, weight tightening around it and he spots his father with glowing eyes and monstrous teeth. Fear consumes him as he thrashes wildly, choking down water in his struggle as he watches his father reach out and –

“Jacob! It’s okay it’s a _nightmare_! Wake up, I’m here.”

The veteran catapults upright, scrambling away from the touch at his shoulder, causing him to tumble onto the floor with a heavy thud. Pain unprocessed, he continues until his back meets the wall, eyes wide as he searches the room. It turns out, he’d never left.  
He sees Rook, eyes filled with deep concern and undeniable terror. She’s glued to the bed, the covers a scrunched up mess and spilling onto the floor, making no move to comfort him. However, there’s no pity in her expression either, he notices. Whenever someone witnessed anything similar to what had just happened, they’d either run away in fright, stare with pity or try to baby him. But Rook merely sits patiently waiting for him to come back.

She doesn’t speak as he gives a groan and rubs a hand down his face. He’s going to feel that fall later, no doubt. Nevertheless, Jacob stands, pausing as he regains his balance before storming out of the room. Dawn’s light peers through the windows like a nosy neighbour, the delicate sound of bird song a façade in the rotten scented air.

Giving him a few moments, Rook takes her time leaving the bed and stretching before looking for Jacob. She finds him hunched over the kitchen sink and she’ll admit – he’s looked better. His form is racked with exhaustion, hands trembling as he splashes cold water over his crumpled features. Carefully, cautiously, Rook approaches and it’s more due to the fact that, from personal experience, she hates having her space invaded after a nightmare. Her lips are sealed as she reaches out, hand hovering over his covered bicep before it presses down and she gently uses her thumb to squeeze.

Jacob’s gaze snaps to her hand, as though it were a knife and Rook frowns to herself. Her conscience tells her she should be enjoying this, Jacob Seed _weak_. But right now? All she sees is a broken man. Her hand retreats, but not for long as she reaches out to take one of his own. He hesitates at first before warily letting her bring it closer to her form. It’s placed over her heart, beneath her breast and Jacob stutters at the action. “You’re safe,” she breathes. In all honesty, _she_ can’t believe what she’s doing. But she figures, if anything, the beating of a heart might ease him. It’s a distraction, adrenaline racing through your body – it’s not dissimilar to counting the ticks of a clock or listening to flowing water. It seems to work too as his attention diverts to his hand, breathing slowing with each beat. “Sleep’s overrated anyway.” He glances at her, unamused by her attempt at humour but there’s that soft, fondness in his gaze again and it gives her chills.

“Yeah,” he says blankly.

She releases his hand and he slowly takes it back to his side, continuing to stare for a moment more before Rook decides it’s best to turn away. There’s an intensity Jacob emits that she’s still not quite able to withstand for more than a few seconds. Besides, how were you supposed to recover from this?

“What time were you hoping to set off?” She asks.

“Hm? Oh. What time is it?”

That must’ve really thrown him off. _Understandably_ , she thinks. “Just past six thirty AM. Mr Vasquez had an alarm clock, thankfully.” There’s a subtle concern for when the power and water will cease to work. She can’t bring herself to look at him. The speed he’d left the bed, like a child from a horror movie, the panic in his eyes, the scream that ripped from him seconds before ... It’s difficult not for her to wonder what the hell he was dreaming about. Why his brother’s names were muttered in his sleep. Who was Jacob so afraid of? There was alarm in the concept that Jacob could _feel_ fear. It meant there were worse things out there.

“You good to go _now_?”

Rook tenses. As in _right now_ right now? She doesn’t ask, worried that she’ll receive another **_are you stupid_** look, so she gives a nod instead. Honestly, she’s surprised he asked rather than straight up telling her.

“Get your shit t’gether. We move in ten.” As she moves to collect her backpack, Jacob spots a shade of red on her face and his brows furrow. “Look at me f’r a second.”

Arching a brow, she turns to face him. Dread bubbles like acid in his stomach. “Did _I_ do that?”

“Do what?” Concerned by his reaction, Rook approaches a discarded spoon on the worksurface and uses it as a mirror. Her reflection is upside down, but she’s able to see the mark Jacob’s referring to. On the right side of her jaw there’s a small cut; the surrounding skin swelling and vaguely darker in colour. “Oh. I didn’t – uh, yeah. It’s not your fault. I tried to calm you when you ... and you ... swung at me but it’s nothing. Really. I can barely feel it.”

“But you _do_ feel it?” He says, worrying his bottom lip.

If Rook didn’t know any better she’d say he looks like he feels bad about it. But she _does_ know better, right? “It’s _nothing_ Jacob. I swear.”

He approaches her, purpose in every step as he closes the distance, a hand rising to brush over the wound. Rook doesn’t move as he tilts her head back, a finger hooked beneath her chin so he can better assess it. Unexpectedly, he seals his lips against the wound, his touch shockingly soft. He starts to retreat, only to lean down further to catch her lips and Rook feels a cycle starting as she helplessly presses into it. An arm slinks around her, his giant hand grasping at her slim waist and Rook has to firmly push a hand into his uninjured shoulder to have him pause. “Jacob, we have t’ ... get moving ...”

Nodding shakily, he regains composure and gives a low hum that sends a shiver up her spine. “Shit.” Did she just make Jacob Seed _breathless_? Rook feels dizzy at the thought that she might just have that power. He appears to be equally as disturbed, judging by the way he brushes past her and over to his kit. There’s a strangled sound as he tries to put it over his bad shoulder, only for him to decide one shoulder’s _good enough_. She follows, slinging the straps over each arm until it’s comfortable – or at least as comfortable as a heavy-as-fuck rucksack can be.

“Ready?” He briefly glances in her direction, avoiding her gaze.

“Ready.” When he looks away, she steps over in search of his knife she’d dropped the previous night. It wasn’t there. Rook looks around, then at Jacob’s leg to see it sheathed there. She scowls to herself. Of course he’d fucking picked it up. Who would Jacob be without his stash of many weapons? The thought unnerved her, rightfully so.

Sighing, she gives a roll of her shoulders and follows him out the door – into the open. It’s hitting her now, just how scared she feels about ... _everything_ that’s happening. About Jacob, about the zombies, about what’s going to happen, about what has _already_ happened.

Shit, she thinks. Shit, shit, shit. She’s really thrown herself in it this time. Rook can’t help but think what’s going to happen when she rocks up at Joseph’s compound at Jacob’s side. Will they instantly shoot her? Will they think she’s there to cause harm? She has no idea what Jacob’s told them, and when she thinks about it, her life is in Jacob’s hands. Something about that is incredibly concerning. Nevertheless, Rook walks beside him like they’re strolling the goddamn countryside.

 

Exiting the property grounds, they round the fencing to find themselves realigned with the necessary road, or so she thinks. Jacob’s taken the map back and although she prides herself on experience and knowledge, she hadn’t actually ventured into Joseph’s region. The only time was when – Rook bites her lip. When everything went to shit. She has to hold her breath to keep from laughing at the irony that _who’d have thought things could get any worse?_

“You alright?”

Jacob’s voice breaks her train of thought. “Huh? Yeah, yeah fine.”

“Not usually this quiet.”

“I guess the zombies are sleeping.”

Jacob grunts. “You, Deputy. ‘m talkin’ about _you_.”

“Oh! Uh – I’m just tired.”

He gives a nod of acknowledgement and Rook somehow knows he’s thinking **_you and me both_**.

They walk in silence, save for the scuffing of their boots against the road. They near a turning on the left and Rook feels her stomach churn violently at what lays before them. A body hangs limp from two wooden poles protruding from the ground. There’s a bag over their head, no doubt to keep the Peggies guilt to a minimum, so they don’t have to see the agony in their victim’s eyes. Barbed wire covers the bloodied body, you may not make martyrs out of the Holy family but they may make a martyr out of you.

Rook comes to a halt, her gaze unwavering as she stares at the hanging corpse. The stomach has been ripped open, guts spilling out onto blades of emerald. This man may have been dead but the zombies still feasted upon him. Her brows furrow, lips tightening with both sorrow and disgust.

Jacob notices his company stop and he continues on for a few steps before turning when she doesn’t resume. “What are you doing?” He arches a brow at her, gradually picking up on her stare which he follows, leading him to the body. Oh. It was a member of the Resistance, no doubt. One that Faith’s people had took to maiming. He can understand the expression that creases her smooth features, but he cannot empathise. In fact, Jacob’s found that to be near impossible since he can _remember_. Whereas Rook is clearly contemplating the pain the man suffered and feels sorry for them, Jacob merely sees a body. Someone who is now dead, food for the birds and the worms. It’s the circle of life, and _this one_ especially had deserved it.

“Does this not – are you seriously – of course you are!” Rook barks at him.

“Of course I’m _what_?” The switch in her tone has him tensing.

“You’re so _unaffected_ by this,” she observes, accusing as she is stupefied.

 “It’s just a body.”

“Just a _body_?”

“We all die in the end, Deputy. What you’re lookin’ at is the act of culling. That person was weak.”

“Weak for what, Jacob? Having beliefs? Just like you and your family?”

Jacob pauses. He can feel this escalating and out in the open, too. She’s going to attract unwanted attention with that _noise_. “Would you calm down?”

“Calm down?” She snarls back, storming towards him. A hand rises and a finger extends to prod at his chest as she speaks. “You are _heartless_. He was probably a good person with a family and your people tortured him and f’r what?” There’s tears brimming at her eyes and she knows it’s not the body that’s caused it, but more a build up of things. The corpse just happened to be the tipping point. “You heartless _asshole_!”

He can’t relate to it; therefore a hand rises to clasp one side of her jaw which has her falling silent. Intensely, stone hues watch her and she trembles beneath his gaze. Seeing the body scared her, it showed how Jacob could go from gentle and seemingly caring to sociopathic and cruel. Granted, he wasn’t involved in this death, but Rook’s seen the bodies in the Whitetails too. “Stop it,” he warns her, scowling as he brings their faces closer together.

Instead of leaning in this time, however, Rook yanks herself out of his grip. He scoffs, jaw tensing with frustration. She’s the prime example why he avoids spending his time with _women_. But at the same time, she was all so alluring.  “What would y’ have me do, Rook?” He sighs, running his thumb over his brow.

There’s a brief pause as her gaze averts back to the corpse, teeth gritting. “Give me your knife.”

“What?”

She looks back to him and holds out a hand expectantly. “Your _knife_.”

“Why?”

Rook’s stare only hardens, resulting in him squinting at her before unsheathing it and passing the blade over. She snatches it from him and turns, making her way over to the body where she begins cutting the rope keeping it in the air. One arm slumps, followed by the other as the body hits the sodden ground with a thump. If she had a shovel, she would spend her time digging a grave, but she didn’t. “That’ll have to do,” she breathes, frowning once more before making her way back to Jacob. He looks at her with curious eyes. Without another word, she hands his knife back and then continues on ahead.

Jacob watches for a moment as she leaves him, teeth tugging at his lower lip because Rook is an enigma – to him. Her heart bleeds for others and if he can harness that? He could make her so strong. He picks up the pace, wide gait catching him up in no time, though he doesn’t speak. No, he allows her to have a few beats to process things. Only when they approach the bridge does he talk. “You always go t’ such lengths f’r strangers?”

“What?”

He’d mostly been expecting silence, so call him pleasantly surprised at a response. “You became a deputy t’ _help_ people, right? Strangers of all kinds.”

“Sure.”

“I’m interested in _why_. It self-serving? You _enjoy_ the feeling y’ get from helping people? That’s gotta be it, right? No one does their job solely f’r _others_.”

“Why can’t it be a _healthy_ balance of both?”

Well there’s something Jacob’s never considered. Self-serving and selfless in one picture? “Doubtful.”

Rook stops and turns to face him. “Why has everything gotta be _selfish_ t’ you? D’ you not believe in good people?”

“I believe in strong people, Deputy.”

“Good _is_ strong!”

“Do you think _you’re_ good?” He asks.

She stutters at that. “I’m – I’m human.”

“Exactly.”

“And what the hell is that supposed t’ mean, huh? You’re human too, Jacob. You’re just as pathetic and narcissistic as the rest of us.”

 

Before she has time to draw in her next breath he’s on her, lips pressing into her own, molten stare melting her own as his tongue urges to search her mouth. There’s the clink of teeth as their mouths battle for dominance and his hands find their way up her neck and into her hair. It’s too much, the gravity in each kiss he delivers – she fears he’s going to crush her beneath his fervent desperation. It’s a void of loneliness she’s not unfamiliar with and it sticks out like a bruise upon porcelain skin.

“Jacob,” she breathes into his mouth, unable to help the moan that slips from her own when a hand unexpectedly graces her hip and squeezes.

“Pathetic, huh?” He breathes, nipping at her lower lip as he backs her up to the edge of the road. “I’m gunna make you take that back.”

“Yeah?” She challenges. There’s confidence in her tone but she’s absolutely terrified. Where is he taking her? In more ways than one. Something clatters to the ground beside her, followed by Jacob stripping her of her rucksack which is thrown aside with whatever else he’d dropped and she feels a sharp pain bite at her spine as she’s pushed into something solid. He adapts to the transition immediately, peppering her throat with kisses and she tilts her head back, keening for more. She’s so overwhelmed, unable to fight the way her body hungers for him and the fire in her abdomen is far beyond the help of an extinguisher. “Fuck!” She gasps, hands clutching for anything she can.

His face is so close she can feel his breath scorching her features. “I’ll show you pathetic,” he growls, hands grasping at her thighs and lifting her to straddle his waist. Jacob’s weight is pressed against her, their lips threatening to meld together and he slips away just in time, mouth working its way down her throat and onto her collarbone. He nips at the flesh there, ensuring every lick is met with unbreakable eye contact.

Gradually, he makes his way to the top of her cleavage, mouthing at the fabric covering her like a pup pawing for attention. Rook notices him shift back up to her throat, pins and needles prickling beneath the area his mouth meets and she should be worried he’ll leave a mark but the image merely has her arching against him, into him. Another thing she notices is that she’s the only one grinding, which is fine – Jacob’s probably got something holding him back but she can’t help the embarrassment that washes over her because of it. She’s so desperate and she’s not even trying to hide it from him.

Jacob lowers her back down to the floor, a hand boldly drifting up her inner thigh – testing the waters. He doesn’t dare go any further without permission and when he hears her utter a please, he doesn’t hesitate. Fingers clutch at her belt, tugging the pants just enough to allow a hand to slip beneath her waistband and out of sight, between her legs. A digit caresses her folds of flesh, gently easing them apart in search of more.

“ _Please_ Jacob,” Rook manages, blushing furiously at the way her voice wavers. _It’s been so long_.

“Yeah?” He checks, breathless. “Please _what_ , Rook?”

She shudders, thighs clenching as she moans. It’s not _enough_. “I need ...”

“Jesus Deputy,” he rumbles against her ear, licking at the lobe and catching it in his teeth. “Just _tell_ me. I’ll fuckin’ do it I just gotta _hear_ you ...”

Rook’s lips part as she tries to speak but her voice is drowned out by the sound of a gunshot. One blink and there’s blood spattered on her chest, eyes widening in panic as she tries to process the situation with how goddamn hot she feels. She glances around for the shooter but can’t see anything but crimson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cliffhangers. also, thank you for being patient and I apologise this chapter took a while to come out. I've been ill for a couple weeks and other things have been taking over. Hope it was worth the wait!


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